Hornby — who, in case you forgot, wrote High Fidelity (love the book; the movie adaptation is my favorite film) and About a Boy — is a music-lover and always has been. So he figured he would write about songs that stick with him. He devotes a few pages to each song and moves on. Sometimes it’s how the songs make him feel, or memories that he ties them to, and often they become philosophical, psychological or sociological conversations on pop music and its place in our lives. In other words, it’s a book I’d love to write myself someday that, hopefully, wouldn’t end up seeming like a copycat derivative of Songbook.

Hornby writes in such a calm and simple candor that it’s easy to agree with him, or to at least to understand his where he’s coming from. He has a common sense that looks past the divisions that music creates between generations, examining its place in all our lives, reflecting on his own youth as well as his current middle-age, all the moments in between, and how music connects them all.

And with that, I leave you with this quote from a chapter about Röyksopp:

How is it possible to love or connect to music that is as omnipresent as carbon monoxide?

This may partly explain the teenage fondness for the profanities and antisocial attitudes of hip-hop: neither Starbucks nor The Body Shop nor the Hotel Minimalist wishes to assault their valued customers with obscene raps about Uzis and pussy set to beats that attempt to remove part of your skull, thus allowing contemporary youth to bond with their favorite artists in private. I was able to do that with Led Zeppelin because no one else was interested: you never heard “Dazed and Confused” on TV, or in department stores, or in pubs, or even on the radio very often; there was only one TV program dedicated to the music I liked in Britain. (Now there’s probably a “Dazed and Confused” cable channel somewhere that plays the song twenty-four hours a day.) I was therefore able to foster the notion that Zeppelin was something special, a secret between me and my friends. Such is pop music’s current tyranny that it must be almost impossible for kids to think that major artists are speaking directly and intimately to them — how is that possible, when those same artists are speaking to everyone who buys peppermint foot lotion or eats at Pizza Hut? The simplest retort to this ubiquity is to listen to and learn to like music that is essentially dislikable, stuff that would bring the Starbucks compilation people to their knees begging for mercy.

I highly recommend this book to all readers and music fans. As if I needed to say it.

It’s not like I know anyone who was murdered recently (or ever, really). There haven’t been any in this area lately that I know of. The only one I’m remotely connected to personally is the killing of the older sister of an acquaintance some fifteen years ago that became a media spectacle for a while.

As best I can figure, it’s a combination of things: being stranded in the admittedly haunting Omaha, Nebraska, in the middle of the night alone; reading a few days later about a murder spree in the Omaha area that inspired Springsteen’s song “Nebraska” (the coincidental timing of the two was chilling); reading Nick Hornby’s description of the Suicide song “Frankie Teardrop” before listening to it; being reminded of the movie Capote and his own curiosity that inspired In Cold Blood (which my curiosity recently drove me to buy at a used book store); the melancholy darkness of the fall that affects me so deeply; the chill of a full moon at experienced alone at midnight. It could be any of these things, or a combination of all of them. I don’t know, nor will I ever.

I don’t mean to say I want to see a murder, or even the aftermath of one. I’d much rather live in a world where no man killed another man. I see no situation where killing one’s own kind is justifiable. And yet, when I hear of murder — especially senseless, premeditated or unjustified murder, murder outside the realm of “crimes of passion” — my mind spins wildly. The thought of a cold and lifeless body taken too soon, the way its image must haunt all who see it, the suspense of a killer in one’s midst.

Perhaps it’s only human to wonder about things that we will never do. It makes me wonder if those inclined to murder have a “morbid” curiosity about, I don’t know… making cupcakes, or living a life rich with love and emotional support given and received.

It also makes me wonder how it is that humans are so similar and different all at once. Relatively speaking, I suppose it’s no stranger that I like music more than others than it is that some are inclined to kill more than others. But what is it about human nature that allows for such wildly diverse moral and psychological states while still providing some sense that we are all the same?

I hope this curiosity doesn’t lead any to think I’m unstable; I think I’m more balanced, satisfied and happy with my life than ever before. I’m not any closer to wanting to commit such an act; in fact, I’m probably further from it than ever, not that I was anywhere close to begin with. I know I can’t be alone in my ability to wander into dark territory without feeling unstable, but I don’t know of too many others who would admit to such a curiosity.

Now that I think about it, the fact that books like In Cold Blood and songs like “Nebraska” are popular speaks to a thread in humanity similar to what I’m talking about. Maybe it’s just weird to talk about it. But then, when have I ever been normal?

What do you do when you have rapper’s block? Er… I mean writer’s block.

Not write, that’s what.

I stole this video from Merlin Mann, a recently-discovered hero.

John Cleese hits a lot of nails on their heads here. I love the idea of “tortoise enclosures.” When I’m being creative — while making websites, writing code, writing blog posts and magazine articles, whatever — my best tortoise enclosures are coffee houses and my headphones that I keep at the office that I use to ignore my boss. He hates those headphones and I love them for the same reason: I can ignore everything around me (namely, him) and get things done. He’ll probably read this blog post and scowl at me because both of us know that I’m good at what I do. I’m not being cocky, I swear.

On that note, I also like Cleese’s point about blind spots: how people who are bad at something often don’t know they are bad at it because they lack the intuition at that thing to tell good from bad. This is why we see really bad American Idol contestants and leaders who suck at leading, and talented workers who know better than to climb corporate ladders if they’re good at the job they’re already doing.

Written by Rob Sheffield, a rock journalist and long-time fan of pretty much any good music, Love is a Mix Tape is an autobiography of sorts. Each chapter starts with a mix tape — a listing of songs important to that point in Sheffield’s story. He traces his roots, telling the reader how music has always played an important part of his life. He talks about growing up as a Catholic boy in Boston listening to Zeppelin, a twenty-something listening to Pavement, a thirty year old discovering Missy Elliot. But, most importantly, he tells us how he met Renee, the love of his life.

It’s no spoiler: Rob and Renee aren’t together for long. They got five years before she died suddenly. I knew it was coming, and yet was still surprised when it happened. Halfway through the book, Sheffield’s memoir suddenly transforms into a reflection of how he coped with loss, sometimes through friends and family, but mostly through music.

Perhaps I took this story more to heart than most. After all, as a wannabe music journalist with a girl by my side who has drastically altered the playlist of my life, I get where he’s coming from a bit. Reading what it was like for him to suffer was nearly unbearable for me; I hate hearing what it might be like to lose my other half so quickly and suddenly.

I guess this was a book meant for me. It was encouraging to see that someone else keeps track of what he was listening to, and has found a way to use it to learn and grow and reflect from his own history. I hope I can find a purpose for my own history-recording someday as well, though I’d prefer for it to be a happier experience.

If you feel music, if it helps you to live and love and grow and reflect, Love is a Mix Tape is for you. Call me a sap or an over-dramatic fool, but love and music were meant for each other and this book nails down the idea like none other could.

Speaking of the No Age thing, I’ve always been frustrated at my lack of love for Pavement. It might be time for me to go back to try them again. Perhaps a recent reading of the book Love is a Mix Tape has something to do with this. More on that later.

1. Eels – “Hey Man (Now You’re Really Living)” (Blinking Lights and Other Revelations)
2. Eels – “Things the Grandchildren Should Know” (Blinking Lights and Other Revelations)
3. Dead Man’s Bones – “Buried in Water” (Dead Man’s Bones)
4. The Raveonettes – “Bang!” (In and Out of Control)
5. No Age – “You’re a Target” (Losing Feeling)
6. No Age – “Eraser” (Nouns)
7. Silversun Pickups – “Growing Old is Getting Old” (Swoon)
8. Will Hoge – “Even If It Breaks Your Heart” (The Wreckage)
9. Bruce Springsteen – “Jersey Girl” (Live/1975–85)
10. The Gaslight Anthem – “The ‘59 Sound” (The ‘59 Sound)
11. Bruce Springsteen – “Devils & Dust” (Devils & Dust)
12. Frightened Rabbit – “Keep Yourself Warm” (Midnight Organ Fight)
13. The Hold Steady – “Stuck Between Stations” (Boys & Girls in America)
14. The Two Man Gentlemen Band – “Fancy Beer” (Drip Dryin’ with the Two Man Gentlemen Band)
15. Devendra Banhart – “Can’t Help But Smiling” (What Will We Be)
16. Glasvegas – “S.A.D. Light” (Glasvegas)

A curmudgeon might reasonably point out, “Why the blue hell do I need to talk about ‘mind grapes’ when the word ‘mind’ is working just fine?” Well, as Cosmo Kramer once asked, “Why go to a fine restaurant when you can just stick something in the microwave? Why go to the park and fly a kite when you can just pop a pill?” Language isn’t always about brevity. People like to be clever, and they like to reference clever shows like 30 Rock. Whether that makes you blurgh or liz is up to you.

(via The Language of 30 Rock)

I love this piece about how 30 Rock invents words that get thrown into our cultural lexicon. I personally love using the term “thoughtsicles” as an alternative to “mind grapes.” Tracy came up with that one, too.

Language is a funny thing. We say all sorts of seemingly useless crap that we get from TV, movies, music, YouTube and Urban Dictionary. A physical printed dictionary could never keep up; it’s a wonder people even care what new words get added to Webster’s list every year.

Side note: I also enjoyed how the article used Twitter as a means to prove their point of real-world usage. Mark that down as another possible purpose for tweeting, or at least the value for researchers found in otherwise inane collections of 140-ish characters.

So why it took so long to get around to reading God’s Debris — his short, free thought experiment of a book — is a mystery to me. I literally started last night and finished this morning. It was, as expected, an easy read that was thoroughly thought-provoking.

The entire book is a conversation between two men. One is teaching the other his theory on life, the universe and everything based on the simplest explanations for everything.

The climactic idea they reach is this: God, being omnipotent and all-knowing, can know everything except what would happen were He to no longer exist. So in an effort to maintain His omniscience, He destroys himself. This destruction is our Big Bang, and the entire existence of the universe is a collection of His debris, slowly reformulating into a single consciousness as God recollects himself back into His all-powerful self.

Yeah, it sounds crazy and weird. That’s what’s so fun about it. And the fact that Adams explains it so easily only makes it that much better of a read.

I highly recommend God’s Debris for anyone who enjoys exploring philosophy and religion. You can download it as a free PDF and it’s a very quick read, so there’s not much excuse not to read it.

This one is an examination of the Catholic Mass, explaining many of its parts, but mostly looking at it from the context of the book of Revelation. He argues, rather convincingly, that Armageddon is the current time we are in and that, while we are in the midst of Mass, we are actually in heaven, and not just symbolically. Instead of looking at political events in search of the end times, he matches up almost every key aspect of the final book of the Bible with an aspect of Mass. I won’t list those things off here because, well, there’s a lot of them. Plus, I’m no expert at Catholicism or the book of Revelation so a lot of it was new to me.

This book will be surprising to most evangelicals, who try to draw parallels with current events while they flip through Revelation, but (this was surprising to me) many educated in the Catholic tradition won’t find much of this new at all. It became clear to me as I was reading that Revelation was written with the Church and Mass in mind, not as some wacked-out prophecy about how the world will end. Sure, it was written in a strange format, but it’s impressive how much of it lines up with the procession of Mass and the overall structure of the Church.

Like I said, I won’t try to argue in favor of the ideas presented in The Lamb’s Supper because I’d fail quickly. But if you’re interested in end times theology, the Catholic Mass or finding heaven on earth, this will be an eye-opening book for you.

Live music, when done right, is life itself. Messy, with warts. You try to get it right, but no one’s life is perfection. You battle the mistakes.

There’s no ideal beauty. Even though actresses all plump their lips in pursuit of an elusive ideal. Hell, remake yourself until you lose your identity, like Jennifer Grey or Leeza Gibbons. What turns us on are your imperfections!

But I didn’t hear one imperfection tonight.

…

I saw better playing in Nashville in a bar than you see at most major shows. I felt it. Music isn’t dead, but the business is trying to kill it. You might think Ashlee Simpson doing a hoedown when the tape breaks on SNL is long in the past, but that mainstream game is not completely dead, unlike Ms. Simpson’s career.

(via Lefsetz Letter – Mika At The Palladium)

Lefsetz strikes again!

A live show is a unique thing. The music industry would die without them. It’s why a lot of die-hard fans collect bootlegs of shows. (I’ve got handfuls of bootlegs from bands I love; every one is amazing and unique and re-listenable.) If you turn the music into a repeat of yesterday’s show, the business of your band is going to be limited and, unless you’re spending a LOT of time in the studio making new stuff, it’s going to wither out and die. Maybe not now, but it’ll happen. It’s like living on a diet of corn syrup and MSG; it’ll kill you eventually.

I’d rather see a band screwing up, engaging with their audience and fighting with their own humanity in order to bring you the best show they can. It shows a dedication and love for the fans, the music and the passion that pushing a button on a computer will never be able to mimick.