It's Time For a Change

It's a little over a year into Obama's presidency, and I must admit to being surprised and dismayed by the national mood, most notably the rhetoric from the right. I understand that Obama is not their guy, but is it really necessary to vilify him and undermine everything that he does? Is it necessary to hate him, just because you disagree with him? That’s what conservatives seem to be doing. They are inciting hatred of Obama.
I understand feeling frustrated by the policies of the President. The Bush Administration frustrated liberals for eight long years. Bush and Company stole an election to gain the Presidency. They instituted policies that went against everything we stood for. They started two wars, one on false pretenses. They lied to our faces, oozed arrogance in their dealings with other countries, and generally made a mockery of America.
But we didn’t hate Bush. We made fun of him (it’s not like he made it hard). We rallied against his attitudes and policies. We condemned his short sightedness. But I really don’t think that we hated him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, just not the guy we wanted running our country. He seemed like the kind of guy you could go out and have a beer with (or do a little blow with, if that’s your thing—it’s not mine), but he was, in our estimation, too simple-minded to be in charge of the most powerful country on the planet. The President needs the ability to distinguish between shades of grey, and Bush was most definitely a black and white kinda guy.
But we put up with him, and when 2008 rolled around we got our guy into office. Obama is as imperfect as any human, and I haven’t agreed with everything he’s done since taking office, but I believe that he is heading us in the right direction. He’s shown respect to the leaders of the world, rather than acting like a superior. He’s done his best to keep our economic crisis from worsening. He’s made a giant, albeit imperfect, step towards universal health care in this country. You may not agree with these decisions, but I’ll take a President who is trying to save a country (our own) over someone trying to invade one (or two).
And yet conservatives genuinely seem to hate him. The Tea Party types call him a communist (he’s not). They insist he wasn’t born in America (he was). They insist he’s going to take away their freedoms (this is just ridiculous). It’s as if the fear-based culture encouraged by the Bush Administration has infected the populace, and now anything that doesn’t fall in line with someone’s view of the world is something not just to be disagreed with, but hated with wholehearted sincerity. It’s as if there’s no middle ground anymore, no agreeing to disagree and maintaining a healthy respect for one another. It’s frightening.
Worst of all, this is an attitude that is not just shared, but encouraged by the conservatives in government. It’s one thing for an uneducated layman to insist that Obama is going to make fishing illegal. It’s another to have hate, lies, and misinformation being spread by those in charge of things. They should know better.
It is not the job of Republicans to agree with Obama. It is, however, their job to work with him in an effort to make this country a better place. And they’re not doing their job. They are sitting on the sidelines, spewing hatred, and refusing to join in. They have taken their ball and gone home.
So they didn’t like the health care bill. Fine. But they don’t have the right to whine and complain about Obama passing it anyway when they made no real effort to change it for (what they perceived to be) the better. Many Republicans rallied against Obama’s stimulus plan, fought it tooth and nail, and then the hypocrites took the money offered by it anyway. Why? Because they didn’t truly oppose it. They understood its necessity. But by opposing it they can say to their constituents come election time that they fought it. The fact that it actually ended up helping many communities will surely be overlooked, somehow.
And this is what disturbs me about the current Republican regime. They aren’t trying to help this country; they’re trying to help themselves. They have been obstinate opponents of Obama’s every move not because they disagree with him, but because they’re afraid he will succeed, despite the fact that his succeeding would help this country. They want him to fall flat on his face so that they can regain power and things can return to “normal.” It has nothing to do with a better America, and everything to do with power. It’s self-serving bullshit, and it’s despicable.
Think about it. Whether you agree with those in power or not, wouldn’t you rather have your party working to find some middle ground on important issues, rather than causing it to erode? If there’s no middle ground then there are only two options: you get what you want or they do. That’s not what checks and balances are for. It is not the job of the minority party to work against the majority party. It’s their job to work with them. And that’s where Republicans have failed mightily.
You don’t have to like Obama. But he’s not Hitler. He’s not Pol Pot. He is a man trying his best to do what he believes is right, just like Bush was. You don’t have to agree with him. But you shouldn’t have to hate him, either, and you sure as hell should be willing to work with him.
So I urge the conservatives of this nation to take a good look at the actions of those who control your party. Do you really want your party run by a schoolyard clique? If the answer is no, then let those guys know that it’s time for a change of attitude. If the answer is yes, then god help us all.

It Burns (Tik Tok Parody)

This is my first (and probably last) music video. Yes, I am mind-blowingly awesome.
P.S. If you like this version of the song spread it far and wide, my friends!



Lyrics
Wake up in the mornin' and I turn on the tube
Then I turn to MTV to try and get in the groove
I see this skanky chick crawlin' up out the bath
I can't believe my eyes, just shake my head and laugh

I'm talking this girl's a train wreck (wreck)
Got hickeys on her neck (neck)
Has lost all self-respect (ect)

I tell ya I start to avert my eyes (eyes)
But what I don't realize (ize)
My bathroom holds a surpriiiiiise

It burns when I pee
Think I got an STD
Watching her video
Man, is that poor chick a ho
Discharge from my head
Who is payin' for my meds?
(That stupid ho)
(That skanky ho)

It burns when I pee
Think I got an STD
Watching her video
Man, is that poor chick a ho
Discharge from my head
Who is payin' for my meds?
(That stupid ho)
(That skanky ho)

Had not a care in the world till I saw this chick
Now I got some milky discharge comin' out my dick
What do you have to do to earn that kind of funk?
Bet her coochie smells like old meat that's been left in the trunk

Im talking serious E. coli (I)
Feel sorry for the guy (guy)
Who next unzips her fly (fly)

I bet it knocks him on his ass (ass)
Like skanky sarin gas (gas)
Be better if he passed (passed)

It burns when I pee
Think I got an STD
Watching her video
Man, is that poor chick a ho
Discharge from my head
Who is payin' for my meds?
(That stupid ho)
(That skanky ho)

It burns when I pee
Think I got an STD
Watching her video
Man, is that poor chick a ho
Discharge from my head
Who is payin' for my meds?
(That stupid ho)
(That skanky ho)

(Girl) you gave me pus
I can't believe
You did it
From long distance

We've never met
Yet here I sit
Hoping I
Don't have herpes

(Girl) You gave me pus
I can't believe
You did it
From long distance

We've never met
You piece of shit
You piece of shit

Now I can't ethically get my freak on

It burns when I pee
Think I got an STD
Watching her video
Man, is that poor chick a ho
Discharge from my head
Who is payin' for my meds?
(That stupid ho)
(That skanky ho)

It burns when I pee
Think I got an STD
Watching her video
Man, is that poor chick a ho
Discharge from my head
Who is payin' for my meds?
(That stupid ho)
(That skanky ho)

The Skydiving Incident

This story is completely true. Until we get to the skydiving part, that is.

In his book Red Dragon, Thomas Harris said (I’m paraphrasing) that fear is the price of imagination. This rung true for me because most of my fears are indeed based upon my ability to imagine the worst.
The best example of this is my fear of heights. It’s one of those primal, crippling fears that I rarely even attempt to overcome. Don’t misunderstand; my acrophobia isn’t so bad that I steadfastly remain on terra firma regardless of the situation, like John Madden’s long-lost son. I’m not that much of a pussy. My phobia simply means that, on the occasions that I do tempt fate, I cannot help but imagine the horrible and gruesome death that my hubristic ascent into the heavens must surely lead to.
For example, anytime I find myself on a plane I inevitably picture the plane losing all power and dropping from the sky like the multi-ton hunk of metal that it is (airplanes are unnatural; surely only witchcraft of the most evil sort keeps them in the sky). I imagine my subsequent descent into madness, in which I lose all control over my mind and bodily functions, for the long wait between the realization that I am going to die and my actual death is what truly terrifies me about heights.
I have repelled into an open cavern (with no walls or stalactites nearby to provide even the slightest comfort), the only thing between me and my piñata-style death being a terrifyingly thin bit of climbing rope. I tried to enjoy the experience of hanging hundreds of feet above a cave floor, and I might have done so for about 6.3 microseconds, but the rest of the descent was spent in the company of an extreme surety that, any second now, that thin rope was going to snap and send me plummeting to a grisly death in which I would (with my luck) end impaled upon a stalagmite.
Then there was the trip I took to Italy with my family. We were in Florence, I believe, and decided to climb to the top of a bell tower or something. The stairs are on the inside of the building, you say? No problemo. Up we went. And up. And up. Until that point, I was convinced that only an Escher drawing had that many stairs. I was mistaken. When we finally reached the roof, we found ourselves approximately 80,000 feet above the city of Florence. It was beautiful. Pants-wettingly beautiful. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but imagine the inevitable earthquake that the gods would send to punish me for climbing to such unnatural heights. The earthquake would topple this tower of Babel, sending me racing towards the earth with thousands of tons of rubble at my flailing heels, just in case the drop somehow spared my life.
Despite this healthy and justifiable fear of a horribly protracted death, I occasionally get it into my head to tempt the Fates. This explains the repelling. It also explains the skydiving trip I recently took. Deciding that I once again needed to face my fears, I took a friend up on an offer to go skydiving. Sounds like fun, right?
We arrived at the airport at 9:00 AM and the process began. We signed waivers. “Something something undersigned…something something liability…blah blah high risk…blah blah see you in the afterlife…” Wait—what?! I re-read the end and was relieved to see that that last bit was merely a figment of my overactive imagination. I signed at the bottom, feeling the mild unease that one must surely experience when signing one’s own will. A little spooked, I began climbing into my jumpsuit, beginning to feel like a man who was being prepared for execution, but oddly giddy as well.
Our instructors did their instructy thing, telling us what to expect, how not to hurt ourselves when leaving the plane and landing, and generally psyching us up for a “bitchin’ time, dudes!” It worked. I was excited. You always jump tandem on your first jump, so I had a talk with my instructor before getting on the plane.
“Look, I’m kinda afraid of heights, so I might need a little help out the door. No matter what I do or say, I want you to please make sure we jump out of that plane as planned, okay?”
“No problem, bro. I’ve jumped with plenty of people like you. We always end up jumping and they always thank me for the help with that first step. It’s gonna be epic!”
I thanked him for his assurances and we all climbed into the plane. We took our seats and off we went into the wild blue yonder. The first thing that I noticed is that this aircraft, a medium-sized prop plane, was decidedly less steady than your average passenger plane.
“Okay,” I told myself, “I should have expected this. It’s a lot lighter than the other planes I’ve been on, so I’m sure that this alarming increase in bumps and noise is perfectly normal.” I tried to calm myself.
Up and up we went. It felt like an eternity. Finally we leveled out and I took a peak out of a window. I’m pretty sure I see stars. And was that a satellite that just cruised by at a bajillion miles per hour? The first creeping tendrils of mind-numbing terror began to wrap around my mind.
What the fuck am I doing?! I’m terrified of heights, and I’m about to jump out of a perfectly functional airplane! Good lord, I’m gonna die! The parachute is going to fail and my instructor and I are going to race each other towards our deaths. We are going to become one, in the most inescapable and appalling manner, with the earth and each other. Oh shit, I am officially freaking out!
Then someone opened the door.
It was as if they opened the door to Hades itself. The wind shrieked like a banshee, buffeting everyone inside with icy cold. I swear I could hear the screaming of the damned in that wind, and they’re all saying the same thing: “You’re gonna die, honky!”
“Dude, I can’t do this!” I yelled over the wailing wind. “I appreciate this opportunity to laugh in Death’s face, but I think I’m going to pass, ride down with the sane people piloting this thing, and live the rest of my life with a healthy and responsible fear of Death instead.”
The instructor laughed and told me everything would be fine. That son of a bitch! I decided that if I live through this I’m going to kill him and everyone he’s ever loved. Twice.
My friend and her instructor positioned themselves at the door. She gave me the thumbs up, turned back to the door and jumped out. I’m convinced that it’s the last time I’ll ever see her, unless, of course, you count the quick glimpse I’ll get of her mangled corpse embedded in the ground before I hit and become one myself.
We began walking towards the door. At this point I am nearly insane with fear. I beg. I plead. I threaten. Nothing fazes this guy.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t think I forgot what you told me! ‘No matter what I do or say, I want you to make sure we jump.’ I’m helping you face your fears, dude! Have fun with this!”
The small sliver of me that has managed to remain sane makes a mental note to invent time travel with the intent of going back in time and kicking my own stupid ass for uttering what was clearly the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. I’ll give me a beating I won’t soon forget!
I continued begging anyway. I was now crying, complete with snot running down my face. The instructor, hooked to my back, couldn’t see this. He patted me on the shoulder and we were out, falling towards the earth at what will soon be terminal velocity.
I screamed like a 5-year old girl who has just watched an axe-murderer butcher her favorite pony.
I flailed like an epileptic spider monkey.
Never in all my life have I experienced such mind-altering terror. My mind couldn’t even begin to process the enormity of the fear I was experiencing as I plummeted towards what was surely my death. And, oh great zombie Jesus, did I just…
Yep. I just wet myself.
At first it was warm, a somehow soothing feeling that spread from my nether regions. This did not last long. The thing about the air at that height is that it’s cold. The warmth of my ever-spreading urine is no match for the bitter cold of the air and wind at several thousand feet. The icy hands of fate quickly turned my naughty bits into a crotchsicle. I began to fear that, even should the parachute properly deploy, my now frozen penis might just snap off upon landing.
I estimate that it was at about this time that my instructor noticed something was wrong, because he suddenly yelled, “Dude!” He yanked the chord, and, much to my surprise, the parachute unfurled without a hitch.
“Dude, did you piss yourself?!” are the first words I’m able to hear once the wind dies down.
“Um, no!” I yelled back, trying to find a way to save my dignity. “I think we hit a duck! That must be blood!”
He wasn’t buying it. “Dude! Uncool, man! Uncool! I’m covered in man-piss!”
And without warning, my instructor began to retch uncontrollably.
This was an extremely unfortunate situation for me, as I was directly in front of him. As warm, chunky vomit covered my head and back I did what came naturally. I myself began to puke. Violently.
“BLAAARGH! OH GOD!” I screamed. “BLAAAAAARGH! SOME OF YOUR PUKE GOT IN MY MOUTH! BLAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
And so we descended back to earth, an ever-dwindling twin fountain of bile and breakfast. We landed and crumpled to the ground, two men covered from head to toe in vomit and urine, dry-heaving in the puke-splattered grass.
“Never—HUUUUUAAH—again—HUUUUUGGGGH,” I said between heaves.
“You got—HUAARGH—that right—HUUUAAAAH—buddy!” came my instructor’s reply.
And thus was I banned from skydiving in Colorado. I attempted to get my money back, citing the unprofessional manner in which my instructor unloaded the contents of his stomach onto me, but they would hear nothing of it.
Apparently a little pee puts the blame squarely on me.

*I would like to thank Tucker Max for inspiring me to move past simple urination and go for the gold--a full on floating vomitfest.

Musicopia: Beatlemania, Part 1

By now you’ve surely noticed that I enjoy a wide variety of music. If I had to pick a favorite musical genre, it would probably be hip-hop, followed by good ol’ rock and roll. My favorite musical act, however, is without question The Beatles.
People often say that you’re a Beatles person or an Elvis person, or, perhaps, a Rolling Stones lover. With all due respect to Elvis and the Stones, there is absolutely no twentieth century musical group or individual more important or influential than The Beatles. Pick a music artist these days and I guarantee that one of their influences is The Beatles (and if they aren’t, then someone directly influenced by them is).
Whether you enjoy their music or not, there is no denying their influence on music in the Western world and beyond, and I dare you to find another group or artist who evolved as drastically as they did over their seven years of recording. They began as a pop-rock group who essentially conformed to the conventions of their predecessors, but before long they were blazing their own trail, experimenting with feedback, sound effects, and unconventional instruments such as the sitar. And, amazingly, their experimentation and growth did nothing to hinder their popularity. If anything, it enhanced it, setting them apart from the wealth of exceptional acts that surfaced in what I consider to be music’s Golden Age, the 60s.
This is why I can’t just stick The Beatles in with the rest of the B’s. My love of their music requires that I give them special attention, for they deserve to be elevated above all. And so I give you a Musicopia special edition: Beatlemania. In Beatlemania I will explore each of the albums within The Beatles canon, consisting of their twelve UK albums, the US version of Magical Mystery Tour, and the Past Masters albums, as well as a smattering of tracks from the Anthology series and the (relatively) newly released Love, which was created for the Cirque du Soleil show of the same name. If you’re a Beatles fan already, then you surely won’t mind being reminded of why you love them. If you’re unfamiliar with their work, then I urge you to take this opportunity to explore it. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.
P.S. Damn you, Yoko!!!!

The Beatles’ first major album was Please Please Me, released in 1963. I used to consider much of their early work to be inferior simply because it was (at the time) fairly standard rock, rather than the barrier dismantling work that they did in their later years. Thankfully I’ve seen the error of my ways, for their early work, while not unconventional, is nonetheless excellent rock and roll, and still has all the Beatles charm that one finds in their later work. The album’s first track, "I Saw Her Standing There", is classic Beatles—up-tempo, cheerful, and about the ladies. Other great tracks, like "Love Me Do" and the title track will surely ring bells with most people. But songs such as "Misery" and "Chains" may be new to the casual fan. And c’mon, without this album’s last track (among my all-time favorites) we wouldn’t have one of my favorite moments in movie history, the fabled Ferris Bueller parade scene.

1963 also saw the release of their second album, With The Beatles. I must admit that I find this to be a weaker album than their first. Of the original songs that they composed for the album, "All My Loving" is easily the best, followed by "Hold Me Tight" and "Don’t Bother Me". But other than “All My Loving” I think the strongest tracks on the album are the covers of Chuck Berry's "Roll Over Beethoven" (which features some great guitar playing by George), and The Marvelette's "Please Mister Postman".

Two albums were released in 1964 as well. The first was A Hard Day’s Night, the soundtrack to their first movie, and the first Beatles album comprised entirely of original material. The album’s title track and "Can’t Buy Me Love" are among The Beatles’ best early work (“Can’t Buy Me Love” being one of my favorite Beatles songs). The rest of the album is solid as well. Even the songs that don’t regularly make it onto my playlists compel me to break into song when I listen to them (to the utter dismay of those around me). Among my favorite tracks on the album are "I Should Have Known Better", "Tell Me Why", and "Any Time At All". Great songs all.

The second album released in ’64 was Beatles For Sale, and (I’m sensing a pattern here) I feel it is weaker when compared to A Hard Day’s Night. But we’re talking about The Beatles here, so “weaker” is a relative term. The album contains another of my favorites, "Eight Days a Week" (I seem to have a lot of favorites, don’t I?). As with most of their early albums, there are a number of cover songs included, such as the Carl Perkins song "Honey Don’t", and another Chuck Berry cover, "Rock & Roll Music", featuring a great example of John’s vocal chops. Other than “Eight Days a Week,” my favorite original works on the album are "What You’re Doing" and "No Reply", which I’m especially fond of (especially the bit from about 1:03 to 1:32).

Another year, another movie. Their second movie, Help!, was released in 1965, and the soundtrack is once again solid as a rock. There are only two cover songs on this album, with the best easily being Ringo’s rendition of "Act Naturally". Love that song (and Ringo’s gotta get the spotlight every now and then!). But I’ve gotta tell ya, this album kicks some serious ass. The title track is one of their greatest songs, certainly among their early work. I can’t begin to describe the über-awesomeness of the song. But it doesn’t stop there! With tracks like "You’re Going to Lose That Girl", "Ticket To Ride" (with a wonderfully silly video; lo siento para los subtitulados en español), "It’s Only Love", and one of Paul’s most famous and beloved songs, "Yesterday", this is surely their best album thus far.

The Beatles’ sixth album, Rubber Soul, is where they started off into territory heretofore unknown to rock bands. Remember that roommate I had back in college (mentioned in the last installment of Musicopia)? Well, this is his favorite Beatles album (or it was back then), and understandably so. This album, also released in ‘65, represents a sea change in the work of The Beatles, both musically ("Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" features George’s first use of the sitar in a recording, and "In My Life" features a piano solo that sounds very much like a harpsichord) and lyrically (as John’s philosophical and self-deprecating lyrics in "Nowhere Man" demonstrate). This album is so good I want to post every song, but through a superhuman demonstration of willpower I’m going to mention only three more songs: "You Won’t See Me" (because I like Paul’s voice and the ooooo la-la-la’s), "Girl" (a favorite which I’m embarrassed to say had escaped my notice until I watched Across the Universe), and "I’m Looking Through You" (just because).

If Rubber Soul was the beginning of their trip into the wild musical unknown, then Revolver sees them setting up shop there with the intent of staying for the long haul. While consistently overplayed, "Yellow Submarine" is probably the most sonically complex Beatles song yet (with the possible exception of "Tomorrow Never Knows"), with a wealth of sound effects and vocal silliness that sets it apart from the rest of their work thus far. "Love You To" is classic George, prominently featuring the sitar and other Indian instruments. Their sound continues to fill out on this album (released in 1966), with brass instruments prominently featured on "Got To Get You Into My Life", and some great piano playing by George Martin (“the fifth Beatle”) on "Good Day Sunshine". The album also contains the most depressing song in the universe, "Eleanor Rigby", so there’s that. But seriously, this is probably in my top three favorite Beatles albums, and I left a bumload of good songs out, so go get it. Get it now!

The Beatles’ next album, 1967’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, is where it all began for me. I was visiting my mom at work and one of her co-workers had the album on cassette. I can’t remember whether he was listening to it and I asked to borrow it, or if the guy just knew it would blow my mind and offered it to me, but blow my young teenage mind it did. I’d heard "Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds" before, of course, but the album in its entirety was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I listened to it. Again. And again. And again. Thus began my Beatlemania.
Paring the album down to a handful of songs is like asking me to club a truckload of doe-eyed baby seals, but do it I must. The title track must get mention due to both its greatness and the way in which it sets the tone for the rest of the album. I must also mention "Fixing a Hole" because I overlooked its greatness for too long, and because I love the harpsichord. "Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!" also deserves mention simply for its sheer zany awesomeness. In my book, any song mentioning a waltzing horse is a good one. "When I’m Sixty-Four" is one of my favorites on the album. It’s sweetly sentimental, and I love the clarinets. As odd as it may sound, "Lovely Rita" may be my favorite song on the album. This is Paul at his whimsical best. I love the fact that he asks Rita out, then lets her pay the tab for dinner. For some reason that just cracks me up.
As with Revolver, there are so many great songs on this album that I was unable to mention them all. I urge you to get the album. I don’t care what you do in order to procure a copy. Rape. Pillage. Plunder. Do whatever it takes (ok, maybe not rape); just get this album! If you don’t enjoy it, then I’m sorry, I’m going to find you and jam an ice pick in your ears. Not enough to kill you, mind you; just enough to irrevocably deafen you. If you don’t like the album then aural pleasure is obviously beyond you and your ears are wasted on you anyway.

That's all for now, cats and kittens. Part 2 will be out as soon as I manage to finish it, which might be as late as next week, since I tend to get distracted and listen to some of the songs multiple times, thus ensuring that this takes much longer than it needs to. But The Beatles are worth the wait.

Musicopia: The A's, Part 2

The Allman Brothers Band is one of those bands I’ve been meaning to get to know better but haven’t managed to get around to yet. Nonetheless, you can’t go wrong with "Ramblin’ Man".

The first Amy Winehouse song I ever heard was, of course, "Rehab", and I nearly fell off my seat. I’ve been saying for years that if we’re going to retread musical styles of the past, then Motown is long overdue for a revival. And here was proof that I was not mistaken. After devouring her Back To Black album, I came to two conclusions: this was an excellent album, and this chick’s got issues.
But the fact that Amy’s nuttier than squirrel poop is irrelevant. She’s got a great voice and she’s not afraid to be honest (as he first album’s title, Frank, implies). Mix in great production that borrows from some of the best eras of music (Back To Black, as I noted, has a definite Motown vibe, while Frank leans more towards jazz), and you’ve got yourself some excellent music. Here’s hoping her stint in rehab hasn’t affected her ability to flip her contemporaries the bird and do her own thing.
Finding favorites is hard, since both her albums are solid. But I can’t list everything, so I’ll do my best to be selective. "Me & Mr. Jones" is definitely in my top five, due to both the wink and nod towards Billy Paul’s “Me & Mrs. Jones,” as well as the constant use of the word “fuckery.” I just dig that word. Don’t believe me about the Motown thing? Listen to "Tears Dry On Their Own". You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like a Marvin Gaye song! "Stronger Than Me" is a great song off the Frank album (all the others so far have been off of Back To Black). It’s a funny little song, and it seems that, despite the attitude, Amy likes to adhere pretty strictly to gender stereotypes (if her “Are you gay?” quip is any indication). And if we’re talking about her amusing knack for honesty, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention "Fuck Me Pumps", an ode to all those skanky chicks you see at the bar. I think I’ll stop there before I get carried away, but there are plenty more that I haven’t mentioned, so check out both of her albums. This is quality music, my friends.

If you’re not from the Bay Area then you’ve probably never heard of the rapper Andre Nickatina. He’s hit and miss, as far as I’m concerned, but you gotta love a guy who samples Tchaikovsky. Check out "All Star Chuck Taylors" and see what I mean.

A little research has taught me two things: "The House of the Rising Sun" was a traditional folk song before The Animals got to it, and their rendition of the tune is, arguably, the first folk rock song ever. When I think “folk rock” this song definitely does not come to mind, especially after watching the video and seeing that lead singer Eric Burdon looks like Damien from The Omen all grown up (I’d always pictured him with wild shoulder-length hair and looking a little like Jim Morrison, not standing stoically in a suit like a Beatles reject). Regardless, it’s a classic tune and worth mentioning.

Anyone who was born anywhere between the late 70s and early 90s probably knows the show Animaniacs. It was bizarre, hilarious, and, at times, educational. "Yakko’s World" (as it’s called on The Animaniacs’ Wacky Universe album), is one of those educational moments. I’m still not sure what I find more impressive: the fact that they managed to name (almost) all of the countries in the world (at the time) in the song, or that it’s a damn entertaining song. I miss that show.

People mock the hell out of disco, but I love it. It’s fun, upbeat, and makes you wanna wiggle your ass. What’s wrong with that? Nothing, as far as I’m concerned, and Anita Ward’s "Ring My Bell" is a great booty shakin’ song if ever I heard one.

Annie Lennox is another artist I need to get to know better. She was great with the Eurythmics, of course, and her voice is still exceptional. And her video for "Walking On Broken Glass" gets extra awesome points for starring John Malkovich and Hugh Laurie (looking quite a bit like the moronic prince he played in Blackadder the Third).

I first saw Anthony Hamilton performing "Comin’ From Where I’m From" on Chappelle’s Show, and I was immediately hooked. His album of the same name is solid, containing great tracks like "Charlene" and "Cornbread, Fish & Collard Greens". His next album, Soulife, didn’t live up to my expectations, but I still thoroughly enjoy the tracks “Ball & Chain” (which I couldn’t find, but these guys do a pretty good cover of), and “Ol’ Keeper,” which I couldn’t find at all. Bottom line: if you like soul then you’ll like Hamilton. He’s got a great voice and is one of the few artists these days keeping soul music alive.

When I went away to college I shared a dorm room with some dude who kept his noggin in headphones all the time, editing some self-shot movie called Sprinkle Me. Once he got done editing the flick (months later) and took his head out of the headphones we became fast friends, bonding over our music collections (ok, at that point my collection was minimal, so it was pretty much his collection we bonded over). "Tighten Up" was one of the songs he had that dropped my jaw and fueled a fire in me. This is funky stuff, boys and girls. Too bad an insurance company defiled it by using a bastardized version in their commercials. Screw you, corporate America. Screw you.

The 60s were weird, man. How else do you explain a bunch of forgettable cartoon squares like The Archies having a chart-topping hit? Regardless of the epic lameness of Archie and company, "Sugar, Sugar" is still a fun song. But if I want weird cartoons made by guys on drugs, I’ll take Scooby-Doo. Scooby dooby Doo!

No collection is complete without representation by the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin. Everyone knows the song “Respect,” of course, but if that covers the extent of your Aretha knowledge then you, my friend, are missing out. It started for me with a mission from God. Jake and Elwood’s, to be exact.
The Blues Brothers soundtrack is exceptionally good, and Aretha’s track, "Think" is one of the best songs on the album (along with Ray Charles’ “Shake a Tail Feather” and Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher”—but I’ll get to them later). Then there’s the incomparable "Chain of Fools". If I had to pick a favorite Aretha album it would have to be I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You. Containing the aforementioned “Respect,” the title track, "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man", and my favorite Aretha song, "Baby, Baby, Baby",and more, this might as well be a greatest hits album.

Anyone who remembers the group Arrested Development knows they were a unique bunch. As I recall, there were about 452 people in the group, all wearing daishikis, head wraps, and other traditional African garments. I can’t say much for their sense of fashion, but the Metamorphosis Remix of "People Everyday" will always be a favorite of mine (borrowing from Sly and the Family Stone certainly didn’t hurt).

I thought Rage Against the Machine was toast when Zack de la Rocha left, but replacing him with Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell was a stroke of luck. Ditching the name Rage Against the Machine for Audioslave was also a savvy move, since Rage ain’t Rage without Zack. I haven’t paid too much attention to Audioslave, to be honest, but "Show Me How To Live" is a rockin’ song that perfectly highlights Cornell’s vocals, and any video with a Challenger in it is worth watching. That is one mean looking car!

I’ve decided that, based on the intricately layered samples comprising their music, the Avalanches must be a group of hardcore obsessive compulsives. Or they’re just very patient and detail-oriented. And, if the "Frontier Psychiatrist" video is any indication, batshit crazy. But in a good way.

And that’s the A’s, ladies and gents! Guess I could have been more selective, but what the hell. I told ya I love music. The B’s are on their way, but I can’t say when. This takes longer than I thought it would!