Sometimes I wish I was still a kid. Life was so much simpler back then — playing catch in the front yard until the last rays of light left the sky, building skateboard ramps in the driveway, cruising aimlessly around the neighborhood on my bike. No worrying about credit card bills, career paths, or social networks. No worrying about financial meltdowns, global warming, or terrorist attacks.

The problems confronting the world today seem unparalleled. But maybe they’ve always been this big; maybe I just never noticed them as a kid. And they’re getting pretty hard to ignore now. It seems like the more I learn, the more serious the problems become.

So how do we respond when faced with such daunting challenges? Barack Obama offered an answer to this question at his inauguration yesterday: stand united and work together towards a better future. It won’t be easy, but it needs to start happening. Soon.

And although I agree with him, I still miss the carefree days of childhood. Oddly enough, I’ve recently discovered two songs that remind me of those simpler times. Which is one of the many reasons I love music: a few well-placed notes can transport you to a different time and place, or even conjure up a long-forgotten memory.

The first song is “Kids” from MGMT’s Oracular Spectacular. In addition to its fitting title, “Kids” features a ridiculously catchy hook and some vague lyrics about growing up. After listening to this song a few times, it’s easy to see why MGMT topped so many lists at the end of 2008.

The second song, “Hands Remember” by Seabear (aka Sindri Már Sigfússon), sounds like a peaceful dream. A gorgeous string section accompanies Sigfússon’s gentle vocals. Again, the lyrics have a nostalgic feel, talking about revisiting and repeating the past. If you like this song, I highly recommend checking out the rest of The Ghost That Carried Us Away. It’s one of the best albums I’ve heard in a while.

• MGMT – Kids
• Seabear – Hands Remember

For the past year or so, I’ve felt the overwhelming desire to move up north for the winter and live by myself in a cabin. Kind of like Bon Iver, but not really (mostly because I doubt anything as beautiful as For Emma, Forever Ago would result). Also, I’d want to go somewhere more mountainous and snowy than Wisconsin. Probably either Alaska or western Canada.

The reasons for this are multiple. First, I want to experience the full intensity of winter (I love cold and snow). Second, I want to gaze upon the Northern Lights in all their glory. And third, I want to see how I respond to prolonged periods of darkness and isolation.

So when a good friend suggested I read North Into the Night, a story about a guy who spends a winter alone in the Arctic, I happily obliged. At the very least, it would be an entertaining read, and might even help me prepare for my adventure.

Without giving too much of the book away, the guy nearly goes crazy after spending over 5 months in complete darkness and isolation. He sleeps for days on end and often loses control of his temper and sanity. Even though my proposed adventure wouldn’t be as intense, his story filled me with apprehension. Could I really go 5 months without seeing another person?

All of this got me thinking about the nature of isolation. After some serious reflection, I’ve come up with two kinds (though I’m sure there’s more). The first type of isolation, as described in North Into the Night, is largely physical; the author (Alvah Simon) ventured to a part of the world that few inhabit, so quite naturally he was alone. The second kind of isolation is best illustrated by the story told in Justin Townes Earle’s heartbreaking song “Yuma.” The isolation he portrays is mostly psychological; the (hopefully) fictional character feels completely alone even when surrounded by scores of people in a city.

I think psychological isolation is easier to sympathize with and understand. Most of us live in populated areas. Yet somehow the constant presence of other people doesn’t always fight back feelings of isolation and loneliness. Especially with the rise in popularity of iPods and personal music players. Just pop in those little white ear buds and the surrounding world disappears!

Anyways, if you like the song posted below, I highly recommend listening to the rest of Justin Townes Earle’s EP Yuma, as well as his LP The Good Life. He has an amazing voice and a knack for penning gorgeous songs that perfectly articulate those universal feelings of heartbreak and loneliness. Which, coincidentally, sound amazing through the ear buds of an iPod.

• Justin Townes Earle – Yuma

I knew this day would come. It had to. Dogs normally don’t live fifteen years. Especially fifteen years with three rambunctious boys.

Yet somehow Molly endured. Far beyond even our most optimistic expectations. Even towards the end, when she couldn’t hear and struggled up and down the stairs, she still kept doing the things she loved: lying in the sun at the front door, wolfing down her food as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and doing her best imitation of my mom’s shadow.

Reality still hasn’t sunk in. My beloved dog is gone. She won’t be there at the door to greet me when I come home next time. And I won’t bring back nearly 3 pounds of dog hair with me to California.

So here’s to Molly, forever my little puppy. Here’s to the endless stream of stupid nicknames that flowed in her direction, the sleepless nights caused by her innate ability to hog the entire bed, the cute way she flicked snow up in the air with her nose, and the countless scraps of food she pilfered from the kitchen (including a Christmas ham from the refrigerator).

Here’s to the good times and the bad. Here’s to my faithful childhood companion. I’m going to miss you Molly.

• Sigur Rós – Andvari

First of all, thank you for all the responses to my survey. I apologize for being a little melodramatic. I’m not going to shut down my blog. If anything, I’m going to redesign and (possibly) expand it. Hopefully over the summer when I have more time.

I also apologize for my recent lack of activity. I’ve been extraordinarily busy with school. Specifically, writing papers about engineered system failures and national public policy. Needless to say, it’s difficult to follow topics like those with what I typically address on my lowly blog.

To make matters even worse, I’ve been struggling with the following question. How do you write about something so inherently personal? Subjectivity is, after all, part of music’s appeal. A song can be technically flawless, but that doesn’t mean everyone (or anyone) will like it. Music that makes some people “want to kill themselves” may, to others, serve as a crutch or an escape.

And while most critics try to remain objective when writing reviews, they do so at the expense of making sense. For example, when was the last time you read an entire write-up on cokemachineglow? I usually just check the rating at the top and maybe read the first paragraph. I find these types of reviews to be helpful only after I’ve listened to the music (and formed my own opinions). Only then do I care about what other people think.

All this may explain the rise of the blog. People aren’t looking for objective and critical analysis, they’re looking for guidance (at least when it comes to music). The best bloggers tend to be the most personal: they describe not only the overall sound or mood of the music (the context), but also their personal reaction to it (the opinion). Most importantly, they provide samples so you can listen and try it out yourself.

The context is the trickiest part. It usually involves potentially dangerous labels and associations. Defining the music’s genre or listing similar artists, while most times overly constrictive and sometimes marginalizing, provides crucial guidance. In fact, a quick check of the previous posts on a blog usually tells the reader all he or she needs to know about the quality of the site.

By now you might be asking yourself, “Where the hell are you going with this?” As it turns out, nowhere in particular. I actually may have gone in a giant circle. I started writing this article with the purpose of conveying the recent difficulties I’ve encountered writing on my blog. To that end, this post may have helped me overcome these difficulties. We won’t know for sure, however, until the semester ends in two weeks…

Until then, enjoy a couple songs that perfectly fit my current mood of apprehension and self-doubt.

• Ane Brun – To Let Myself Go
• Nina Nastasia – Superstar

I’ve been struggling with this question for a while now. Is music a necessity or merely a luxury afforded those who have their most basic needs met?

I know how I would answer it. As someone who’s scrobbled over 40,000 tracks on last.fm in the past 18 months, music would appear to be a necessity to me. If you do the math, I spend around 20% of my time listening to music. This is staggering, especially when you consider that approximately 30% of my life is spent sleeping.

The percentage calculated above, however, is misleading: I often multi-task while listening to music. It makes routine chores like homework and commuting tolerable. In fact, music makes my life in general much more enjoyable, which itself is an argument supporting its necessity.

But do we really need music to survive? Clearly it does not provide the nutrition of food or the safety of shelter. There are lots of people out there who never listen to music, either because they lack the opportunity or because they get no enjoyment from it. I’d like to think I could continuing living without ever hearing another song again.

The key word in that last sentence is “think.” I get restless if I haven’t listened to music in a couple days. It calms and soothes, stirs and inspires. It is intensely personal, yet can unite large groups of diverse people. Music offers an escape from reality, taking me back to precise moments in my life or forward to moments I hope to experience. The Album Leaf’s “Twentytwofourteen” takes me back to the winter I spent living in Truckee, while I can imagine playing Beirut’s “Postcards From Italy” at my wedding.

I guess I’ve been pondering this question because I often dream about making music my profession. Whether critiquing or creating, I seem to have a passion for it that most people don’t understand. At the same time, however, I want to be a productive member of society. And if music isn’t necessary, how can I justify working in the industry?

Maybe one justification can be found in people like me. Music has profoundly shaped and altered my life, and for that reason it is valuable. Maybe not necessary, but important nonetheless.

• Bon Iver – For Emma

The song posted above, the title track from Bon Iver’s exquisite For Emma, Forever Ago, only reinforces the value and power of music. Despite having been recorded in a cabin in northern Wisconsin during the winter, the song exudes warmth.

If anyone has yet to listen to Radiohead’s new album In Rainbows, I strongly recommend making your way over here where you can download it for free (if you so choose). It’s nothing short of amazing. Along with the Acorn’s Glory Hope Mountain, it’s been the only thing I’ve listened to for the last 3 weeks.

Which is why I’m worried. Whenever I find an album I really like, I listen to it so much that it loses its impact. Songs that initially moved me to tears (or ecstasy) become stripped of emotion after repeated listens. I can’t tell whether this is inevitable or purely my fault.

The true test, however, is whether you come back to the album after the obsession has subsided. Bands like My Morning Jacket, Okkervil River, and Built to Spill have definitely benefited from this treatment.

A band that’s currently riding this wave of re-obsession is Sigur Rós. Diehard MWW fans may recall that I put a song of theirs on my first podcast. Sadly, I haven’t mentioned them since, which in my opinion is unacceptable.

So in an attempt to amend the situation, I’ve decided to post the closing track from Sigur Rós’ untitled album ( ). The song, which approaches the 12-minute mark, sounds like an epic struggle between good and evil. Don’t let the made-up lyrics distract you, instead think of the vocals as another instrument in the song.

A new Sigur Rós compilation arrives November 6th, with their next studio album currently in the works.

• Sigur Rós – Untitled 8

I love rainy days. They give me an excuse to sit in my room all day and listen to music (not that I really need an excuse). Today, I’m listening to the new Iron & Wine, Beirut, Jose Gonzalez, and Sea Wolf. As you can tell, it’s been an active week in music.

But that’s not what I’m writing about this week. Instead, I’ve decided to share with you two amazing songs that I’d almost forgotten about, as well as the story that brought about their conception.

Back in late 90′s, Spoon was an unknown band struggling to make a name for themselves. Then in 1996 their luck seemed to change when they met Ron Laffitte, the west coast general manager of Elektra. Out of their friendship came a record deal with Elektra and the LP A Series of Sneaks.

Praised by critics, A Series of Sneaks failed to sell. Shortly after, Laffitte was fired. A few months later, Spoon was also unceremoniously dropped, despite promises of continued support from Elektra president Sylvia Rhone.

Naturally, Spoon was quite upset. In response, they went into the studio and recorded two bitter tracks chronicling the entire ordeal: “Laffitte Don’t Fail Me Now” and “The Agony of Laffitte”. Later, when Spoon signed with Merge, they re-released A Series of Sneaks. Sort of like a big middle finger to Laffitte, Rhone, and Elektra, the reissue featured two bonus tracks that, as you can probably guess, are the ones mentioned above.

• Spoon – Laffitte Don’t Fail Me Now
• Spoon – The Agony of Laffitte

No matter how humble (or in my case embarrassing) your roots may be, you should always remember them. After some reflection, I’ve found that my musical roots go back quite a ways.

During grade school, I mostly listened to my dad’s music. It was pretty standard stuff: Clapton, CSNY, Dylan, the Eagles, the Doors, Dan Fogelberg, and Jimmy Buffett. There was also MC Hammer and Ace of Base. Sadly, I have no one to blame but myself for those two.

Then in 7th and 8th grade, I got swept up in the grunge movement. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, and Nine Inch Nails dominated my small CD collection. Over time, my teenage angst subsided and so too did the noise from my speakers.

At the end of high school, I started listening to music again. This time mopey alt-rock by the likes of Goo Goo Dolls, Third Eye Blind, Counting Crows, and Vertical Horizon. One of my friends recommended I listen to Radiohead, so I did. After quickly exhausting their catalog, I looked for something new.

That something was Coldplay, who I discovered freshmen year of college. Most people discover alcohol and drugs in college; for me it was Coldplay. I bought any and everything they released, tracking down rare imports and promos. They were my first true musical obsession and spawned my “British” phase (David Gray, Travis, Doves, Turin Brakes, etc).

And after all of that, I ended up where I am now. Looking back, I can’t help but chuckle at the school-girl crush I had on Coldplay. Embarrassing as it may be, that crush largely inspired my recent music renaissance. And for that, I pay homage.

• Coldplay – Yellow [piano version - live @ KCRW]

A few years ago I stumbled upon the (largely) wordless world of post-rock. Initially, I didn’t know what to think. I worried that the lack of lyrics would prevent me from emotionally connecting to the music.

Call me lame, but at that point in time my musical tastes were still evolving. I gravitated towards slow songs with sad lyrics. I wasn’t necessarily sad and depressed, I just liked listening to other people who clearly were.

But you can’t be depressed forever. The same goes for music too. I had exhausted the catalogues of David Gray and Coldplay and needed something different.

I don’t remember the exact sequence of things, but I think I discovered Sigur Rós and Explosions In the Sky at around the same time. Both bands differed from everything in my music collection: Sigur Rós sang in a foreign/made-up language and Explosions In the Sky didn’t sing at all.

After a few listens, my initial concerns were put to rest. This was really good music. And with no lyrics to distract me, I could assign my own meaning to each song. For example, I’ve always pictured myself cruising down pristine slopes through epic powder while listening to “The Only Moment We Were Alone” by Explosions In the Sky.

Those of you who know that song may think I’m crazy, but that’s what I get from it.

And then there’s a song by The Album Leaf called “TwentyTwoFourteen” that perfectly fit one of my last drives through the mountains of Tahoe last winter. I think it’s the only track that I can link to an exact place and moment in time.

Now I’m not saying that songs with lyrics are bad. Good lyricists use words to paint blurry images that can be uniquely interpreted by the listener. I think everyone would put Bob Dylan in this category, though I think I’ll take a more modern example: Jim James of My Morning Jacket. Especially on the album At Dawn.

Writing this lengthy dissertation has made me realize something: when I listen to a song for the first time, I rarely hear the words. Instead, I focus on the instrumentation and overall mood of the song. For example, I didn’t realize that “The Monitor” by Bishop Allen was about the Civil War until several of my friends told me. I was focusing too much on that damn guitar part. Whether that’s good or bad is debatable…

I honestly don’t know what sparked this post. I just wanted to point out the fact that music doesn’t need lyrics to have impact. Then I planned to reinforce this observation by sharing a really good track by Mono called “Sabbath.” But somewhere in that process things went horribly awry.

• Mono – Sabbath

Now I think I’m a pretty smart guy, but those of you who know me well may disagree. I admit, I do have flashes of stupidity every now and then – especially when it comes to extremely obvious things. Here’s an example.

So there’s this relatively new indie act called Band of Horses. To summarize their sound: mix one part Built to Spill with equal part My Morning Jacket and stir vigorously. Sounds good, right? Those are two of my favorite bands, so what’s the problem?

The problem is that Band of Horses sounded too much like those other bands. Despite hearing only a few of their songs, I dismissed them as blatant copycats. But that’s not why I’m dumb – I’m still getting to that.

After several months passed, I decided to buy their record Everything All the Time and actually listen to it. Damn, it was pretty good. Especially these two songs near the end. They sorta sound similar, like they’re one song broken into two parts. The first song is called “I Go to the Barn Because I Like the” which is an interesting title because it seems to stop in the middle of a thought. Meanwhile, the second song is called “Monsters.”

Then it dawned on me. Maybe the two songs are really one song entitled “I Go to the Barn Because I Like the Monsters!” I proudly shared this thought with my two brothers who both gave me the same reaction: you just realized that? No no, I was checking to see if you noticed it too. I honestly don’t understand how stuff like this goes over my head.

So that’s an example of my occasional stupidity. I apologize for the lengthy essay. Hopefully it was mildly entertaining.

• Band of Horses – I Go to the Barn Because I Like the
• Band of Horses – Monsters