In line with me deciding that I was going to learn to moonwalk on my birthday this year (I set the goal in April), I had been watching a lot of Michael Jackson videos prior to his death. Now, this? Maybe I am the harbinger of doom!
As a little intro, we thought it’d be cool for the three of us to talk about what song we feel best fits our little towns. Read Brian’s here and Lille’s here.
In the coldest of days, here in New York, walking through slush, trying not to slip and fall, I can easily transport my brainwaves to a warm and sunny place: specifically, Los Angeles.
By scrolling the tunes on my iPod to The Cure, or Morrissey or Depeche Mode, I’m instantly back, driving down the 101 in bumper-to-bumper traffic, and listening to KROQ, because in 1996 that’s all you had, and that was quite great, actually.
I haven’t been in New York long enough for me to acquire a taste of a particular scene like I did with New Wave in L.A. All I have to get me in a New York state of mind is a handful of songs by bands that were “in” when I moved here a couple of years ago on my iTunes rotation like Peter Bjorn and John, Kings of Leon, and MGMT.
There is one song, however, that made me feeling like a New Yorker long before I arrived here on a one-way ticket and suitcase in hand. Frank Sinatra’s timeless song “New York, New York” had me, at the age of 13, daydreaming of walking the streets of Manhattan with a million aspirations inside of me, and a smile on my face. This song gets me every time.
Because The Adventures of Pete & Pete was one of my favorite Nickelodeon shows, I get excited when I see musicians who’ve starred in the show perform (Juliana Hatfield, half of the B-52s, Michael Stipe, Lucscious Jackson).
Tonight, Syd Straw , who played math teacher Miss Fingerwood (she also played bass in the Blowholes in the ep “A Hard Days Pete”), will be at the Echo for FREE. Openers Rich Mahan and The Unlawful Kings will also be performing at the Grand Old Echo, a country music themed night PLUS barbecue (at the back porch: The Preachers Son). Oh, and did I say it was free? Cause it is. And all ages.
A few weeks ago, I discovered that “Howlin for Judy” by Jeremy Steig was the origin of the Beastie Boys’ classic, “Sure Shot.” (We were listening to “Droppin’ Science: Greatest Samples from the Blue Note Lab” at a friend’s house.) It also has the song that that Dr. Dre’s “The Next Episode” takes its hook from, “The Edge” by David Axelrod & David McCullum.
I can die now, but from envy; Brian is at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago while Araceli is at the Siren Fest in New York. Wadup, LA?
Brian sent me this invite to this Vice/Colt 45 party with Har Mar Superstar headlining at the Three of Clubs. It’s free, and it says open bar all night, but you have to RSVP here. He said, “Being on lists in other cities makes me sad.” Oh well. Tortoise is playing a ‘by-request’ setlist at the Pitchfork Music Festival tonight (not yet sold out! Omgz), so I don’t know if it sucks to be you or if it sucks to be me!
My mom recently reminded me that when I was little I approached an African-American gentleman after a session of YMCA Gym & Swim and innocently asked him, “Do You Know Michael Jackson?”
Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, he probably looked a lot more like Michael Jackson than any other person I’d seen. Growing up at that time I also remember moonwalking across the wooden dining room floor in socks with my older sister. Unfortunately, neither of these are my most vivid memory of MJ – as that is reserved for a more unsettling recollection: that “Thriller” scared the shit out of me.
It was a great video, but all I knew at that age was that “Thriller” scared the shit out of me. Like when a fanged Jackson screams “get away!” and you watch him turn into a werewolf!? That shit was scary. Or when Michael goes green and his zombie dance crew surrounds his hapless date. That shit was scary.
But the most frightening bit by far, and what came to me immediately when I thought about my first impressions of Michael Jackson, was the inimitable voice of Vincent Price. I remember hearing “Thriller” tons of times in my youth because everybody owned that album. I remember anticipating when Price’s part comes in; when MJ stops singing, the bass and funk guitar keep grooving, a funeral organ comes in, and then the creepiest voice in history begins, “Darkness falls across the land…” I remember excusing myself from wherever I was – a playroom, a backyard, a birthday party – so I could get out of earshot from that terrifying laugh of his.
Despite all this, my enthusiasm for Jackson didn’t dissipate much over the years. Apparently my Thillerphobia didn’t even prevent me from accosting strangers about their affiliation to The King of Pop.
