Post by beack on Jun 13, 2011 13:33:01 GMT -5
Sorry if this has been published before. This is a combination of several playlists Daniel Handler has published. I have heard everything on the first part and it is qutie Snickety. I have heard nothing from part two and I'm looking foward too. Notes by Daniel Handler.
The Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Marianne Faithfull. This first song is a sort of opening theme for this somewhat lachrymose playlist. If the entire playlist can be called "A Series of Unhappy Songs," then Ms. Faithfull gives us a map.
One Day Late by Sam Phillips. I normally do not have much enthusiasm for gospel music, but Ms. Phillips succinctly preaches a philosophy to which I adhere.
Calculation Theme by Metric. This band is from Canada, where misery has been raised to an art.
4th of July by Aimee Mann. Normally, summertime is thought of as a cheerful season. This song demonstrates the fallacy of this assumption.
Nobody's Fault but My Own by Beck. While Ms. Mann's song blames other people for her misery, Beck prefers to blame himself.
Ramon by Laurie Anderson. Ms. Anderson here tells a story I often tell myself on damp and chilly evenings.
Sonata No.9, Op.68 "Black Mass" by Vladimir Horowitz. Alexander Scriabin thought that he could bring about the end of the world if he composed the proper symphony. He died before this task could be completed, which is perhaps why the world has not yet ended.
String Quartet No. 7, in F Sharp Minor by Borodin String Quartet. Of all the oppressively melodramatic and melodramatically oppressive string quartets by Dmitri Shostakovich, #7 is perhaps the most melodramatic.
Ever Falls the Twilight by The Gothic Archies. The Gothic Archies remind us that even the most miserable of days, just like the most miserable of playlists, will eventually end.
Egyptian Bint Al Cha Cha by Ginger Folorunso Johnson. All right, I know what you’re thinking: “not another gratutious mention of Ginger Folorunso Johnson, the Nigerian transplant percussionist of the British calypso scene of the 1960s!” This song makes me daydream that I am in deep conversation with Sidney Greenstreet in a humid barroom shadowed by the slow-turning blades of a somehow sinister ceiling fan. He hands me an envelope. Inside is a photograph of Veronica Lake who has been captured by a secret society that lives according to ancient, esoteric principles in the catacombs underneath the nightclub that burned down under suspicious circumstances. But what can I, an earnest and naïve young journalist who writes brooding poetry in the evenings, do about this? This piece of music and more wondrous sounds on “London Is The Place For Me,” a four-disc compilation of such music put together by Damon Alburn of Blur, who avoids being lame despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Take Me To The Riot by Stars. Why Is So Much Gorgeous Pop Music Coming From Canada? Vol. I. The new album by romantic Canadians Stars is on constant replay all summer long. I’ve loved them forever. Once you hear them you will buy all of their albums, listen to their lower-profile efforts (i.e., Amy Millan and Memphis) and eventually bully them into letting you sit in on accordion. That last part, maybe just me.
Investigation Of A Citizen Above Suspicion by Ennio Morricone. I listen to Morricone, the famed Italian film composer, while I’m working. This track is sort of a sort concerto for orchestra and mouth-harp, and it has recently re-entered my Top 10 because I finally, finally, after years of waiting and longing, got to see the 60s political thriller for which this track was named. The movie was just O.K.
Give Me Back My Dreams by the 6ths. My favorite Stephin Merritt song, off the 6ths’ second album “Hyacinths And Thistles” (both band and album names chosen based on how difficult it would be to say them on the radio). Sung by Sally Timms of the Mekons who normally sings ragged tear-in-yer-beer C & W but fits right into a post-Depeche Mode sensibility. I wrote a screenplay based on this song. Expect the movie in theaters sometime in the next 30 years.
Chimes by Sol Hoopii. I heard this in a bar once and immediately exempted myself from conversation in order to listen the plinky Hawaiian tones flit around the room. I asked the bartender what the tune was. She assumed I was just asking to flirt with her, but the next day I raced down to my local shop and purchased two volumes of Sol Hoopii, so I guess I showed her.
Chances Are by Apostle Of Hustle. Why Is So Much Gorgeous Pop Music Coming From Canada? Vol. II. Also, Why Is The Side Project Often So Much More Fascinating Than The Main Band? Vol. I.
La Di Da by Jake Thackray. Perfect for one’s fantasies of strolling through rural Wales in a tweed jacket exchanging pleasantries with other stiffupperlippers. Recently I gave the Jake Thackray box set, cringily titled “Jake In A Box,” to a friend of mine for his birthday, along with a bottle of tequila. He said, and I quote: “Thanks for the tequila.”
Rag For William S. Burroughs by Matmos. Matmos is a duo most known for occasionally backing Bjök. Here, they stroll around by themselves, laying down some drunken honkeytonk piano which acquires a gunshot wound, hobbles off into a manual typewriter fugue that winds up as Morrocan disco before ticking off into the sunset. If you want anything more than that from a piece of music you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
The Police And The Private by Metric. Why Is So Much Gorgeous Pop Music Coming From Canada? Vol. III. Shortly after this album came out I drove around my hometown with a bunch of friends listening to this song over and over with the windows rolled down and the rainy wind singing backup, something I hadn’t done since high school. It was lovely. Everything by Metric is tops, and if you dig the world-weary, gin-fueled sloganeering vocalist Emily Haines, you might try her solo effort after you’ve locked up all the razorblades.
Rock Hard In A Funky Place by Prince. Any playlist without Prince is no friend of mine.
Mrs. Hughes by Scritti Politti. A small suite of electronic weeny-pop from this band’s second comeback album. I’ve more or less had to force people to listen to this but they’ve all thanked me later. You’re welcome.
Baby Don’t Look Down by Irma Thomas. I’d like to take this moment to thank my cousin Matt Walpole, who once sent me a cassette when I was in high school. On one side was an album by Irma Thomas, the queen of New Orleans soul. On the other side was Bert Jansch. It saved my life. When this album came out on CD it sounded completely different, because I’d listened to the cassette so many times that for several years I’d been listening to Irma Thomas at more-or-less half speed. She still sounded grand. What does that tell you? No, honestly: what does that tell you? Because I’m not sure.
This Year by The Mountain Goats. You could throw a dart at the Mountain Goats’ discography and hit a good song every time, as long as you don’t unpack the metaphor about throwing a dart at a discography, and also, let’s face it, as long as the dart didn’t hit certain songs. Never you mind. Next time the world is all over you like a soaked sweater throw this tune on and sing along with John Darnielle: “I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.”
I Could Have Danced All Night by Sun Ra. I had trouble choosing a Sun Ra song, because I own so many Sun Ra albums and they’re all delightful, but this loopy take on Lerner and Loewe from “Sound Sun Pleasure” won out over the cough-syrup rabble funk of “Mu” from “Atlantis.” It is one of the great regrets of my life that I didn’t go with my friend Jason to see Sun Ra open for Sonic Youth in Central Park. The supernaturally sensational Mr. Ra died not too long after and I never got to see him perform, and I take no joy from that English paper that I finished on time.
Georgia Lee by Tom Waits. There is no giddy surge of optimism I have ever encountered that can survive this weeper. With typical aplomb our second-best living lyricist sums up spiritual doubt better than St. Augustine and a pack of Sam Harrises.
The Straits of Magellan by Morton Feldman.
Good Red Road by World Standard. I’m starting a new novel, and such projects require music with a lot of empty space in it. Two top practioners of this are New York avant-garde composer Morton Feldman and the Japanese ensemble World Standard, who appear to believe they are paying tribute to Hank Williams on their album “Country Gazette,” despite that Hank didn’t much go for drum machines. Actually, my favorite Feldman is a piece called “For Philip Guston,” but nobody’s going to listen to a four-hour piece for piano, celesta, flute, piccolo, vibraphone, marimba and chimes but me, right? (If I’m wrong, give me a call – I have a wonderful evening planned.)
Mr. Kennedy by The Soft Boys. It’s always dicey when a band you like gets back together, but the Soft Boys not only failed to make fools of themselves but made a very beautiful album, “Nextdoorland,” of which side one this elusive sad bauble of a song overshadows. In fact, I think this album contains Robyn Hitchcock’s finest songs, which is maybe like saying “Toward The End Of Time” is the John Updike novel I’ve enjoyed most. Which, and here I cower slightly, is also true.
I’m Not Perfect (But I’m Perfect For You) by Grace Jones. O.K., I’m really digging myself into a hole here.
Hat and Beard by Eric Dolphy. Whew! Dolphy’s “Out To Lunch” has got to be the coolest album ever, and it’s way too cool for any of us to listen to, but the way it rustles and zonks makes you sneak very, very quietly around the corner and listen to it without Eric Dolphy knowing.
Symphony No. 15 by Dmitri Shostakovich. Again, I know what you’re thinking: Dude – because in my dreams you think of me as dude – there’s no way you’re closing out the playlist with Shostakovich’s 15th Symphony. I mean, you’ve been grooving off Symphony No. 2, “To October” for months! And what about Symphony No. 12, “The Year 1917” with its big, glam Hollywood ending? And after a few obsessive years are you really tossing away Symphony No. 10 like so much dross? Have you even considered plugging those Preludes and Fugues, Op. 87, that have been tearing up your home stereo, or, if you wanna go chamber, one of those string quartets that helped you write 13 children’s books about terrible things happening to orphans? To which I say, “Did you know I can hear your thoughts? And also, calm down. And look out the window. It’s summertime, and from the triangle-and-flute duet in the opening to those unexpectedly wistful clock noises – or are they horse hooves? – that round out the lush and blaring interludes in the final Allegretto means that No. 15 is easily the Shostavkoich symphony of the summer!” And then you make me a gimlet.
The Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Marianne Faithfull. This first song is a sort of opening theme for this somewhat lachrymose playlist. If the entire playlist can be called "A Series of Unhappy Songs," then Ms. Faithfull gives us a map.
One Day Late by Sam Phillips. I normally do not have much enthusiasm for gospel music, but Ms. Phillips succinctly preaches a philosophy to which I adhere.
Calculation Theme by Metric. This band is from Canada, where misery has been raised to an art.
4th of July by Aimee Mann. Normally, summertime is thought of as a cheerful season. This song demonstrates the fallacy of this assumption.
Nobody's Fault but My Own by Beck. While Ms. Mann's song blames other people for her misery, Beck prefers to blame himself.
Ramon by Laurie Anderson. Ms. Anderson here tells a story I often tell myself on damp and chilly evenings.
Sonata No.9, Op.68 "Black Mass" by Vladimir Horowitz. Alexander Scriabin thought that he could bring about the end of the world if he composed the proper symphony. He died before this task could be completed, which is perhaps why the world has not yet ended.
String Quartet No. 7, in F Sharp Minor by Borodin String Quartet. Of all the oppressively melodramatic and melodramatically oppressive string quartets by Dmitri Shostakovich, #7 is perhaps the most melodramatic.
Ever Falls the Twilight by The Gothic Archies. The Gothic Archies remind us that even the most miserable of days, just like the most miserable of playlists, will eventually end.
Egyptian Bint Al Cha Cha by Ginger Folorunso Johnson. All right, I know what you’re thinking: “not another gratutious mention of Ginger Folorunso Johnson, the Nigerian transplant percussionist of the British calypso scene of the 1960s!” This song makes me daydream that I am in deep conversation with Sidney Greenstreet in a humid barroom shadowed by the slow-turning blades of a somehow sinister ceiling fan. He hands me an envelope. Inside is a photograph of Veronica Lake who has been captured by a secret society that lives according to ancient, esoteric principles in the catacombs underneath the nightclub that burned down under suspicious circumstances. But what can I, an earnest and naïve young journalist who writes brooding poetry in the evenings, do about this? This piece of music and more wondrous sounds on “London Is The Place For Me,” a four-disc compilation of such music put together by Damon Alburn of Blur, who avoids being lame despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Take Me To The Riot by Stars. Why Is So Much Gorgeous Pop Music Coming From Canada? Vol. I. The new album by romantic Canadians Stars is on constant replay all summer long. I’ve loved them forever. Once you hear them you will buy all of their albums, listen to their lower-profile efforts (i.e., Amy Millan and Memphis) and eventually bully them into letting you sit in on accordion. That last part, maybe just me.
Investigation Of A Citizen Above Suspicion by Ennio Morricone. I listen to Morricone, the famed Italian film composer, while I’m working. This track is sort of a sort concerto for orchestra and mouth-harp, and it has recently re-entered my Top 10 because I finally, finally, after years of waiting and longing, got to see the 60s political thriller for which this track was named. The movie was just O.K.
Give Me Back My Dreams by the 6ths. My favorite Stephin Merritt song, off the 6ths’ second album “Hyacinths And Thistles” (both band and album names chosen based on how difficult it would be to say them on the radio). Sung by Sally Timms of the Mekons who normally sings ragged tear-in-yer-beer C & W but fits right into a post-Depeche Mode sensibility. I wrote a screenplay based on this song. Expect the movie in theaters sometime in the next 30 years.
Chimes by Sol Hoopii. I heard this in a bar once and immediately exempted myself from conversation in order to listen the plinky Hawaiian tones flit around the room. I asked the bartender what the tune was. She assumed I was just asking to flirt with her, but the next day I raced down to my local shop and purchased two volumes of Sol Hoopii, so I guess I showed her.
Chances Are by Apostle Of Hustle. Why Is So Much Gorgeous Pop Music Coming From Canada? Vol. II. Also, Why Is The Side Project Often So Much More Fascinating Than The Main Band? Vol. I.
La Di Da by Jake Thackray. Perfect for one’s fantasies of strolling through rural Wales in a tweed jacket exchanging pleasantries with other stiffupperlippers. Recently I gave the Jake Thackray box set, cringily titled “Jake In A Box,” to a friend of mine for his birthday, along with a bottle of tequila. He said, and I quote: “Thanks for the tequila.”
Rag For William S. Burroughs by Matmos. Matmos is a duo most known for occasionally backing Bjök. Here, they stroll around by themselves, laying down some drunken honkeytonk piano which acquires a gunshot wound, hobbles off into a manual typewriter fugue that winds up as Morrocan disco before ticking off into the sunset. If you want anything more than that from a piece of music you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
The Police And The Private by Metric. Why Is So Much Gorgeous Pop Music Coming From Canada? Vol. III. Shortly after this album came out I drove around my hometown with a bunch of friends listening to this song over and over with the windows rolled down and the rainy wind singing backup, something I hadn’t done since high school. It was lovely. Everything by Metric is tops, and if you dig the world-weary, gin-fueled sloganeering vocalist Emily Haines, you might try her solo effort after you’ve locked up all the razorblades.
Rock Hard In A Funky Place by Prince. Any playlist without Prince is no friend of mine.
Mrs. Hughes by Scritti Politti. A small suite of electronic weeny-pop from this band’s second comeback album. I’ve more or less had to force people to listen to this but they’ve all thanked me later. You’re welcome.
Baby Don’t Look Down by Irma Thomas. I’d like to take this moment to thank my cousin Matt Walpole, who once sent me a cassette when I was in high school. On one side was an album by Irma Thomas, the queen of New Orleans soul. On the other side was Bert Jansch. It saved my life. When this album came out on CD it sounded completely different, because I’d listened to the cassette so many times that for several years I’d been listening to Irma Thomas at more-or-less half speed. She still sounded grand. What does that tell you? No, honestly: what does that tell you? Because I’m not sure.
This Year by The Mountain Goats. You could throw a dart at the Mountain Goats’ discography and hit a good song every time, as long as you don’t unpack the metaphor about throwing a dart at a discography, and also, let’s face it, as long as the dart didn’t hit certain songs. Never you mind. Next time the world is all over you like a soaked sweater throw this tune on and sing along with John Darnielle: “I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.”
I Could Have Danced All Night by Sun Ra. I had trouble choosing a Sun Ra song, because I own so many Sun Ra albums and they’re all delightful, but this loopy take on Lerner and Loewe from “Sound Sun Pleasure” won out over the cough-syrup rabble funk of “Mu” from “Atlantis.” It is one of the great regrets of my life that I didn’t go with my friend Jason to see Sun Ra open for Sonic Youth in Central Park. The supernaturally sensational Mr. Ra died not too long after and I never got to see him perform, and I take no joy from that English paper that I finished on time.
Georgia Lee by Tom Waits. There is no giddy surge of optimism I have ever encountered that can survive this weeper. With typical aplomb our second-best living lyricist sums up spiritual doubt better than St. Augustine and a pack of Sam Harrises.
The Straits of Magellan by Morton Feldman.
Good Red Road by World Standard. I’m starting a new novel, and such projects require music with a lot of empty space in it. Two top practioners of this are New York avant-garde composer Morton Feldman and the Japanese ensemble World Standard, who appear to believe they are paying tribute to Hank Williams on their album “Country Gazette,” despite that Hank didn’t much go for drum machines. Actually, my favorite Feldman is a piece called “For Philip Guston,” but nobody’s going to listen to a four-hour piece for piano, celesta, flute, piccolo, vibraphone, marimba and chimes but me, right? (If I’m wrong, give me a call – I have a wonderful evening planned.)
Mr. Kennedy by The Soft Boys. It’s always dicey when a band you like gets back together, but the Soft Boys not only failed to make fools of themselves but made a very beautiful album, “Nextdoorland,” of which side one this elusive sad bauble of a song overshadows. In fact, I think this album contains Robyn Hitchcock’s finest songs, which is maybe like saying “Toward The End Of Time” is the John Updike novel I’ve enjoyed most. Which, and here I cower slightly, is also true.
I’m Not Perfect (But I’m Perfect For You) by Grace Jones. O.K., I’m really digging myself into a hole here.
Hat and Beard by Eric Dolphy. Whew! Dolphy’s “Out To Lunch” has got to be the coolest album ever, and it’s way too cool for any of us to listen to, but the way it rustles and zonks makes you sneak very, very quietly around the corner and listen to it without Eric Dolphy knowing.
Symphony No. 15 by Dmitri Shostakovich. Again, I know what you’re thinking: Dude – because in my dreams you think of me as dude – there’s no way you’re closing out the playlist with Shostakovich’s 15th Symphony. I mean, you’ve been grooving off Symphony No. 2, “To October” for months! And what about Symphony No. 12, “The Year 1917” with its big, glam Hollywood ending? And after a few obsessive years are you really tossing away Symphony No. 10 like so much dross? Have you even considered plugging those Preludes and Fugues, Op. 87, that have been tearing up your home stereo, or, if you wanna go chamber, one of those string quartets that helped you write 13 children’s books about terrible things happening to orphans? To which I say, “Did you know I can hear your thoughts? And also, calm down. And look out the window. It’s summertime, and from the triangle-and-flute duet in the opening to those unexpectedly wistful clock noises – or are they horse hooves? – that round out the lush and blaring interludes in the final Allegretto means that No. 15 is easily the Shostavkoich symphony of the summer!” And then you make me a gimlet.
