This blog has always acted as a place to talk about music that happens to be kicking around in the heads of we three dudes who write it.  We get music submissions, but really, it’s never been a place that was designed to act as a promotion or publicity tool.

Until now!

That’s right.  You see, I am one half of Washington, DC’s best-ever fake country music duo.  I feel entirely confident saying that, as I don’t believe there are many other fake country music duos in DC, let alone the universe.  In that sense, I suppose it’s a fair statement to call us the best band in the universe in our genre.

We’re called Gallaramy.  And, if I do say so myself, we’re actually an interesting story.

My friend Tim and I are two beginner musicians.  I guess it’s fair to call us musical hobbyists, though I hope even that doesn’t imply a level of musicianship that we simply lack.  We both know a few chords on guitar, and try our best to sing every now and then.  We both bought guitars not only because we’re passionate about music, but because we have friends who are good musicians, and we were sick of sitting around twiddling our thumbs when the guitars came out after a few drinks.

Those musical friends are no strangers to these pages: they are fellow A Cold Sweat writers smitch and jimmymontreal, who are members of the DC band The Roosevelt.  You can dig on this catchy little number from the boys’ debut EP:

“Codeine Cure” by The Roosevelt (from EP)

These two, encouraging our enthusiasm for getting into music, suggested Tim and I sit down together and write some songs.  Tim and I tried this, but found it easier said than done.

It was at this point that we decided on three things: 1) we would write country music, as country has got to be the easiest genre of music to play on guitar (a few chords and a waltz rhythm and you’re golden), 2) we would be called Gallaramy, an admittedly ridiculous combination of our last names that had cracked us up since it was invented during a game of darts, and 3) we would kick this thing off by writing 3 country songs in 15 minutes.  We needed a challenge to serve as motivation.

We wrote down a list of themes we could potentially touch upon– alcohol, women, trucks, desolate landscapes, etc.– and set a kitchen timer and produced three songs that, well, sounded like they had each been written in 5 minutes: My Whiskey Bottle, Roadside Diner and Momma’s Drunk (Again).

But it was damn fun.  So fun, in fact, that jimmymontreal and smitch helped us produce an album of nine original tunes.  (All four members of The Roosevelt, in fact, generously contributed their time and talents to the songs.)  We then hand-made 100 copies of the finished product and held a CD release party where we gave the CDs away to friends for free but encouraged donations to the Arlington Academy of Hope in Uganda.  We raised enough money to sponsor a kid for a year.  His name is Paul.

Here are two of the songs from that first album:

“My Whiskey Bottle” by Gallaramy (from Rose In Hand)

“Lying By Your Side” by Gallaramy (from Rose In Hand)

Now, as if this whole fake band business was not ridiculous enough already, smitch and jimmymontreal decided to bring it to a whole new level.  For reasons that will forever remain unknown, they decided to record a reggae tribute to Gallaramy, a la Radiodread.  They re-wrote and recorded reggae versions of the first 5 songs of Rose In Hand and named it, rasta-ly enough, Spliff In Hand.

The lengths to which my friends will go for a gag never cease to amaze me.  Check out their cover of the above Gallaramy song, and dig on smitch’s sax work.  Yeah, that’s right… sax.

“Lying By Your Dub” by Reggaellaramy (from Spliff In Hand)

So, that’s the background, the story, the legend that is Gallaramy.  And it is what leads me to proudly announce the release of Gallaramy’s sophomore album, Chesapeake.  Hey, Paul needs another year’s tuition.  Who was gonna pay it?  You?  Didn’t think so.

We’ve really kicked up a notch on this one, if I do say so myself.  Rather than existing only as a limited-printing physical CD, the album is available for sale on Amazon (and will soon be up in iTunes and eMusic).  Just like last time, the proceeds are going to AAH (well, to a point… once Paul’s tuition is covered, we may treat ourselves to a night out honkeytonkin’).  Also, just like last time, the album contains three songs that we wrote in 15 minutes (one them, “Roscoe”, is below).  And most importantly, the songs are better, the production is better, and the overall experience of being a fake-but-almost-kinda-real country band is more fun than ever.

Go pick it up and let us know what you think.  Here are two tracks to whet your appetite.

“Red & Josie’s” by Gallaramy (from Chesapeake)

“Roscoe” by Gallaramy (from Chesapeake)

Gallaramy on Facebook

Gallaramy on MySpace

I had planned on writing a post today about a certain type of song that really pisses me off: The Lament of the Trappings of Fame and Fortune.  I have your predictable everyman’s kneejerk reaction to this particular brand of song, despite the fact that artists I love and admire are some of the primary offenders.  Pearl Jam (see “Not For You” or, more accurately, Vitalogy in its entirety), Wilco (“What Light”), Elliott Smith (“Pictures Of Me”) and even Broken Social Scene (“All My Friends”) have all broached the theme.

These songs don’t really say that fame and fortune are inherently terrible (though some do– I’m looking in your direction, Mr. Vedder), but rather that they pose huge questions about one’s identity and ownership of one’s artistic self.  Fine.  But, really, if you’re getting all introspective about those issues, whisper the song to your god damned self in your bedroom as you strum it without a pick on your $3,000 guitar and sob into your 390 thread count Egyptian duvet.  It’s not an issue I can really identify or empathize with.

But in looking for that Broken Social Scene song in my library, I noticed a weird thing: I have FIVE songs– different songs, not reinterpretations of the same one– named “All My Friends”.  So what’s a music lover to do besides rate them?  Yes, that would make a better post than The Lament of the Trappings of Fame and Fortune.  People love lists.

So I give you the “All My Friends” Olympics! In the running, we have entries today from (in alphabetical order) Amos Lee, Broken Social Scene, Counting Crows, The Kinks and Pavement.  The Kinks were kind enough to stand in for LCD Soundsystem, who is still recovering from a pulled hammy and is unable to compete.  The judges have decided to bend the rules of entry to accomodate The Kinks’ sportsmanship (their song is actually titled “All of My Friends Were There”.)  The rankings are to be determined by, well, overall awesomeness of the song as judged subjectively by yours truly.  Instead of medals, the top three will be provided as mp3s.  The results:

5.) “All My Friends” by Amos Lee (from Amos Lee)

While I love Amos’ voice, this song is more or less emblematic of the reasons I don’t listen to him frequently.  Just a tad over the sappiness tolerability line for me.  No medal for Amos.  Back to Philly with your tail between your legs, buddy.  You’ve let everyone down.

4.) “All of My Friends Were There” by The Kinks (from The Village Green Preservation Society)

I don’t now whether to laugh at this song’s goofy verses or to feel inspired by it’s awesome chorus.  This confusion wreaks havoc on the scoring process.  No medal for The Kinks, despite their sportsmanship.

3.) “All My Friends” by Counting Crows (from This Desert Life)

See this?  This is me doing my best to shed whatever instinct it is that tells me to not share the fact that I really, really love a lot of the Counting Crows’ music.  I don’t know what that comes from.  Maybe it’s Adam Duritz’s lay-it-all-out-there melodrama.  Maybe it’s the fine line the band walks between mainstream, romantic comedy soundtrack music and genuine heartbreakers and rockers.  Maybe the fact that I worry about being seen as a dirty white university hat wearing frat boy if I cop to liking their music.  (Is that stereotype even still relevant or am I dating myself?)  T’hell with it.  “A Long December” will always melt me to my core, Courtney Cox video cameo or not.  This song really speaks to all these misgivings, but, you know what? I really like it.  There.  I said it.

The bronze goes to the glamour weepers of Los Angeles.

2.) “All My Friends” by Broken Social Scene (from EP To Be You And Me)

“WAAAAAAAAAAA!  All my friends and I are famous now, and we never get to hang anymore! WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Beautuful song, though.  Really.  Love the false start, though the way Kevin Drew asks “One more time?” at the end makes it sound like they were recording across the room from a sleeping baby.  The silver goes to Broken Social Scene.  Sooo close, but no “Oh, Canada” on this day.

1.) “All My Friends” by Pavement (from Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain: L.A.’s Desert Origins)

Whoa!  The Pavement song and Counting Crows song both come from albums with “Desert” in the title!  D’alright that’s meaningless.

Was there any doubt about this one?  Pavement is the Michael Phelps of unnecessary and arbitrary song competitions in my music library.  No matter what competition I could devise, a Pavement song is likely going to be the winner.  And when it’s a competition that allows one of my favorite Pavement songs into the running?  I mean, c’mon… these other tunes don’t stand a chance.  Just listen to how the whole band comes back into the verse at the 1:09 mark.  My God, that is just awesomeness beyond definition. The gold goes to Pavement.  The gold always goes to Pavement.

To all my friiiiiiiiiieeeeeeends!!

I think I’m confused.

The latest entry in our New Music Friday series –- the album 19 by British singer Adele –- has me asking myself a number of questions about my own musical tastes that I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer.

Let’s start with what we know. Fact: The album is called 19. Adele was 19 years old when it was recorded and released. So far, so good.

Fact: Adele has a ridiculously gorgeous voice. It’s one of those thick, slightly raspy, scotch-and-soda voices that harkens back to the late 60s/early 70s R&B era. The comparisons that have been made between Adele and Dusty Springfield are apt. Think of Macy Gray meets Tina Turner, but tone down the harshness like six notches and add like a gallon each of honey, buttermilk, and high-viscosity motor oil.

After that, I start to get lost. It’s not that I don’t like the music, because I’m pretty sure I really like it. I’m just not sure where it goes.

When I think of other current singer-songwriters I’m somewhat familiar with, I think of Feist, Regina Spektor, Norah Jones, and Yael Naim. But there are a couple others who I know would serve as valid barometers for Adele –- like Nicole Atkins and Amy Winehouse (link omitted for your own good) –- that I don’t know a damn thing about. Probably because she’s British, I’ve seen a fair number of Adele-Winehouse comparisons (mostly to suggest that Adele is what Winehouse would be if she had her shit together or if she were good), but for me, that’s not particularly instructive.

I’ve heard a little bit of what Nicole Atkins has to offer (mostly courtesy of mgdistrict), and while I certainly haven’t heard enough to have any substantiated opinions about her, I have to admit I was surprised (and not necessarily pleasantly so) at how full and dramatic and produced her songs are.

From the varying degrees of what I know about each of these songstresses, my sense is that Adele falls somewhere in the middle. She’s not the classic indie rock singer-songwriter à la Feist (let’s all forget about Let It Die, shall we?); she’s not so far toward the pop end of the spectrum as Amy Winehouse; her music’s not as layered and produced as Nicole Atkins; and she doesn’t sing half her songs in some kind of French-Hebrew Esperanto like Yael Naim. (And yes, I’m fully aware I’m pigeonholing Amy Winehouse after admitting I don’t know anything about her, so don’t bother pointing that out.)

I’d probably put her closest to Regina Spektor –- awesome voice, pop-soul hybrid, a healthy mix of stripped-down ballads and produced pop numbers –- but honestly, fuck if I know where the hell to put this one, ‘cause it’s pullin’ me six ways from Sunday.

Hey, maybe it’s better this way. Without any meaningful measuring stick, all I have to do is listen to those beautiful pipes, let it hit me in that special way that only a good chick singer can, and forget about everything else in this crazy mixed-up world of ours.

Give a listen for yourself, and tell me I’m wrong:

“Right As Rain” by Adele

“Tired” by Adele

Both tracks from 19 – Amazon eMusic

This one’s been stewing for quite a prickly while. For the record, I hate mgdistrict’s iPod. It’s shiny-new, could eat fifteen of my turd-sized nanos and still be hungry, has a killer-sweet screen interface-thing… beautiful eyes…. I mean, come on!

And then… AND THEN!!!1!$!!… that bastard of a gadget goes and preempts a post I’d been planning so that mgdistrict would be able to resurrect a shatty 3 Song Shuffle?! Well you and your 800MB-of-Rock can go fuck yourselves, ‘Pod!

FUCK!!!!*

Well, guess what — I’m not letting it stop me. Whooo-o-o-o-no. I’m gonna post this one after all.

It happened one delicious rainy day (tangent — nothing, NOTHING better than rain in the summertime, ’specially on a super-humid day on which you make it halfway to work before realizing you’d made a terrible fashion decision that morning) that I was returning home via the Metro (yeah, here we call our subway system “the Metro.” I know! Adorable…) and had the Nano a-shufflin’.

Up first came Television’s “See No Evil,” an old favorite of mine, as mgdistrict wrote a while back. This song is all in the back-and-forth of the two guitars, and the bass and drums only accent it (in a particularly awesome way). Wanna try something cool?! Listen to this track, but only with your right headphone in (remove the left one) — you’ll hear only one of the two rhythm guitars. It so happens that it’s the more bad-asser of the two, what with the sweet-ass rolling riff that just drives the verse straight into the chorus… Now, start the song again, and add the left headphone — holy hair nets!! Entire-band-as-rhythm-section equals shitchyea, in my book.

But as that Metro car went a-bouncin’ along those tracks, it dawned on me that as much as I love “See No Evil” for how it sounds, how it’s constructed — a bastion of hookitude — I have absolutely zero emotional reaction to the song. My head was bobbing along with the tune, sure. Some 30 years later, it’s still catchy as fuck. But, did nooo develop a shit-eating grin. No fired-up, “who’s up for golf-cart racing?!” reaction. No “this is the saddest song I’ve ever heard… I shall put it on repeat for the next 17 hours!” response. Not even, “I am at peace with the world right now….” Nothing. I found this revelation very disturbing to say the least. Is there not some inherent conflict in recognizing a piece of music — fuck, art in general — as being technically “about as good as it gets,” only to realize that it fails to elicit any gut-level reaction from you? It’s like meeting Gisele in person, who by all accounts is, you know… I mean… exactly!!… and your reaction is “Meh….” Doesn’t this bother any of you?

This quandary was racing through my head that day on the ‘Tro, but before I could get too far ‘long my Nano threw this one on next: The Kinks’ “Powerman.” Whoooa nelly. Talk about entire-band-as-rhythm-section… Let’s start from the beginning on this one. It too features a ridiculously awesome riff that seems shot out of a cannon. I mean, listen to the drummer try to keep up on the hi-hats. Tasty harmony over the b-section. Uh, the lead guitar’s lick around the 2:00 mark? C’mon… I think my ‘Pod did this on purpose, ’cause I just felt like picking a fight with each and every person on that Metro car for shitzengiggles. It’s infectious, this song. And I couldn’t figure it out. What does this song have that “See No Evil” lacks? Fuckin’ beats me…

But I’ll share my conclusion from that day: if “See No Evil” is Mario Lemieux from NHL ‘92, then “Powerman” is Gretzky. I mean, can’t go wrong either way — hall-of-fame choices, both — but if I had to choose I’m taking the cracked skull ‘n blood every time. Gotta feel something to know you’re alive!

“See No Evil” by Television (from Marquee Moon)

“Powerman” by The Kinks (from Lola Versus Powerman And The Money-Go-Round, Pt. 1)

* PS. Hey, ah, mgdistrict… Sorry I yelled at your ‘Pod. We’re cool, right?

I’m guessing the chances are pretty good that the following two statements are true: (1) you’re a Radiohead fan, and (2) you don’t have anything important to do for the next 90 seconds.

If I’m right, go to this site and fill out the form.

Listen, I know what you’re thinking (because, if you’re anything like me, you’re an insufferable prick when it comes to music) –- attempting to rank Radiohead songs is impossible and therefore useless, you don’t care what other people think are the best songs, and popularity contests are (ironically) for losers.

Recognizing that you may be right about all of these things, a good friend of mine created this site, so do me a solid and get over yourself. Also, if it turns out anything like this site from a few years ago, it’ll be really fun to follow. Lastly, refer back to statements (1) and (2).

In honor of the launch of my friend’s site, two Radiohead-related items are posted below. The first is a really cool video remix/reinterpretation of the song “Nude” from In Rainbows. The second is an acoustic version of the song that I had at the top of my pre-rankings, “Subterranean Homesick Alien” (from, of course, OK Computer). I actually think mgdistrict was the first to claim this as his favorite Radiohead tune, but I can’t argue with the guy. The melody/lyrics in the verse are stupendous (”I wish that they’d swoop down in a country lane/Late at night while I’m driving”); it has a great build-up-and-release chorus; the lead guitar is uniquely Radiohead; and the whole song’s bookended by that sweet, simple guitar riff.

And:

“Subterranean Homesick Alien (acoustic version)” by Radiohead

I can tell you the very second I fell in love with the Blues.  It was when I first wised up enough musically to know that I should look through my old man’s records, and I dropped the needle on BB King’s Live In Cook County Jail.  I cracked a stolen beer and sat on the couch and, well, that was pretty much that.  Even as a white kid in Vermont, the music moved me.

I simply don’t subscribe to the belief that the Blues are something that must be lived to be appreciated.  By “lived,” of course, I mean to say “lived as a poor blind black man whose woman has done him wrong, whose boss just canned him and whose dog just died,” because, really, that’s what’s implied by that old conventional wisdom.  And I take comfort in the knowledge that ol’ B himself wouldn’t buy that theory for a nickel.

That reminds me of how my old college roommate and I once came up with a bluesman alter ego for him.  Since he’s white, we figured he’d need some hard knocks bonafides to prove his blues legitimacy.  So we decided his blues name would be Blind Cockless Adam Jones.  We even came up with a track list of his greatest hits, which included such never-were classics such as:

Cockless Rag

Devil Got My Cock

Traveling Riverside Blues (Cockless Version)

My Cock Done Gone

Three O’Cock Blues

I think that list had us tears of laughter for a good three days.  What can I say?  We’re simple people.

It was at this same friend’s house where I sat down and watched the Wim Wenders-directed episode of the PBS The Blues series.  I loved the episode/movie, especially the story of J.B. Lenoir (though seeing Chris Thomas King play Blind Willie Johnson was also awesome).

I’d never heard of Lenoir until then (now we’re old pals…. I even call him Jables), and his high-pitched voice and rollicking style were totally unique and unlike any other bluesman I’d heard.  The video below is a clip from the show, and even though it’s recorded audio overlayed on a home video, it’s still a great display of his style.  Dig that suit, Jables.

Here’s that track (though a mysteriously short, faded-out version), along with a classic from the album that introduced me to the Blues.

“I Feel So Good” by J.B. Lenoir (from Mojo Boogie)

“Every Day I Have the Blues” by B.B. King (from Live In Cook County Jail)

My dad plays guitar (of the acoustic variety), and pretty much the only kind of music he ever played, at least when I was growing up, involved fingerpicking. I think he taught himself — both guitar generally and fingerpicking specifically — by listening to records, including Mississippi John Hurt, Doc/Merle Watson, and Jerry Jeff Walker (the good late 60s/early 70s version, not the crappy cheesedick version he morphed into), among many others that I was too young/stupid to take notice of.

Interesting side note: my dad never sang when he played –- he’d just get into a total fingerpicking groove where each pluck, upper-body sway, and foot tap was deliberate and intense. His face would be basically expressionless, and he’d stare right at you while he played, impervious to any attempt to communicate with him. I felt like Admiral Benson in Hot Shots: “Dad… DAD… Bah. Been ignoring me all day.”

As a direct result of my dad’s enthusiasm for the genre, fingerpicking was among the first things I learned to do on the guitar, and while I never got really good at it, I was good enough to play a couple tunes pretty solidly and my memories of learning to play guitar are dominated by the frustration invariably associated with learning the technique (I just… can’t… get it… fuck this, this sucks, I’m going to watch Darkwing Duck).

Whether it was because I wasn’t exposed to all that much fingerpicking music or because I wasn’t paying enough attention, it wasn’t until much later that I started really noticing fingerpicking in other songs, like Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright,” which simultaneously rekindled my interest in fingerpicking and revived all those old memories of frustration.

I recently had just such a moment when I was listening to an album by a band I only came to recently, The Dodos. From where I sit, their most recent album, Visiter (buy it on eMusic), is one of the best of 2008, but it was an older album that I recently downloaded called Beware Of The Maniacs that really brought the old fingerpicking sauce back to a simmer (which admittedly sounds disgusting –- I apologize).

A good number of songs on the album, including two or three in a row down the home stretch, are stripped-down acoustic-and-vocal tracks, and one in particular really got the old fingerpicking motor running, out on the old fingerpicking highway, and headed straight for the old fingerpicking mountains (which, in case you were curious, are basically just piles of disembodied hands and guitar strings).

Now that I’ve sufficiently ruined the nostalgic mood I was sort of trying to set, here’s the song in question, along with one of my favorite old fingerpicking tunes that I learned from my dad.

“Bob” by The Dodos (from Beware Of The Maniacs)

“Janet Says” by Jerry Jeff Walker (from Five Years Gone)

This one came out of flapping NOWHERE. I was just leading my Bolton Wanderers to a delicious 4-1 road victory over Newcastle in the 2010 Premier League season opener… no big deal… And then Box comes in and lays down this vinyl treat. Blown away.

There are several things going on with this duo and album. Here’s what Box told me (knowing that she didn’t even have all that much info): it’s M Ward and that crazy chick from Almost Famous. They met during production of a movie or something. Decided to cut some tracks under the name “She & Him.” Frankly, I don’t know shit about this record. Too much for me to (1) care about or (2) take precious time rehashing when you can read their version of events here, the label’s version here, Wiki the whole endeavor here, or stick a ‘Fork in it here.

What I will say is that in many, many ways the delivery of this idea — this walk back 1960s lilly-folkrock lane — is absolutely perfect. And it’s all in the restraint of the production. I’m too lazy to look up the engineering credits right now, so rather than lather up some Nigel Godrich wannabe with lavender-scented aplomb, I’ll just tell you what I hear. This particular ditty should do the trick:

“I Thought I Saw Your Face Today” by She & Him (from Volume One)

This is 2:50 of pop in such a naked presentation that I can’t help but love it instantly. “Box… This is fucking PERFECT, this song. This whole album!!” I literally said that out loud. I know!! And then right after that scored with Harry Kewell from 25 yards out. Think there’s a FIFA-ChickRock nexus at play here? Mmmyes.

Back to the song. Zooey Deschanel does not have a perfect voice. She comes close to hitting most of the notes, sounds unsure of herself in some phrases. Yet, like Patsy Cline or Billie Holliday, there is a natural delivery to her singing that can be devastating under the right circumstances. Now this song isn’t devastating, or anything close. But it is perfect for Zooey’s nonchalant style. In this day of auto-tuning and pitch-correction, I’ll take honesty any day. And the way she starts off with a rolling melody over a solid piano-playing-1/4 note-chords structure (a little bass in there too — never hurts) just establishes her vulnerability. Don’t mind the strings as they come in during the first chorus. No, in fact, they’re quite tastily applied as texture against “I couldn’t help but fall in love again…”

Drums kick down the fence on this second verse. Establishes your normal Neil Young style rhythm to this jam. Really restrained on everything until the bridge — marked by dueling whistles — and just listen to how easily the drums switch to 16th-notes on the hi-hats and stay there through the rest of the song. Like a fucking tractor beam, it locks you in until the song fades out.

What the shit was that?!

Oh. That was a fucking sweetass tune, that’s what.

Sometimes you just kick yourself for letting certain artists fly under your radar. Such was the case when I heard Jim White. I stumbled across his stuff thanks to the always-reliable Aquarium Drunkard.

The Wikipedia entry on White touches on what I’ve come to realize are all the standard talking points about him. Much more interesting than his past jobs, though, is his music: mysterious, twisted, character-driven country.

I have only listened to one of his albums, the wonderfully-named Drill A Hole In That Substrate And Tell Me What You See. Judging from that album, it seems to me that White is much more up my alley when he creates soft, thick smooth ballads. Songs like “Combing My Hair In A Brand New Style” are hit-or-miss stylistically (and about three minutes too long), and I like his voice better when he’s singing like he’s whispering secrets in your ear.

The opening track on Drill A Hole is a lovely duet with Aimee Mann. I defy you to listen to “Static on the Radio” and not get the slightest pang of wanderlust: a sudden craving for a road trip somewhere dark and unfamiliar… a bit of adventure. And man oh man, can Aimee Mann sing.

Another standout on the album is “That Girl From Brownsville Texas.” The first line of the chorus on this song sealed the deal in my mind when deciding whether or not I was down with Jim White. “I been busy killin’ time countin’ bullet holes in state line signs”… yeah, I’m down with Jim White.

“Static on the Radio” by Jim White

“That Girl From Brownsville Texas” by Jim White

The BBC produced a documentary out of a tour of the South with White. Below is a clip from YouTube. I’m looking forward to watching the whole thing, which I’ve queued up on Netflix. Jim seems like an interesting dude.

Both tracks from Drill A Hole In That Substrate And Tell Me What You See (Buy it on eMusic)

Picture from flickr user claytonium75