Work is work. Even on the best of days, the rewards-to-frustrations ratio can be wildly variable. When that happens, the right music can make all the difference. Here's what's getting me through the day today.

05 Cornbread and Butterbeans.mp3

Since becoming a Christian, I've been a little hit-or-miss about Lent. The idea of giving something up for the forty days from Ash Wednesday to Easter isn't a major tenet of my church; they figure if you want to, knock yourself out, but it's not a deal-breaker with the Big Guy. So I've only observed Lent when I had a really good idea. One year I gave up recreational internet usage. Another year I gave up bathing.

This year I gave up the news. NPR, the New York Times, Salon, Slate and the Google News pages were all put on Leechblock (a service of Firefox that I wholeheartedly endorse), as were all those opinion pages whose job is to make you angry at what those scoundrels on the right did yesterday. ("She wrote stuff on her hand! Her HAND!") I wasn't looking to become a hermit necessarily; I figured some information was bound to trickle in. I just wasn't going to actively seek it out. It's too easy to disappear down the rabbit hole of information and (most aggravatingly) opinion. And that's what gets under your skin, angries up the blood and ruins what could be a perfectly pleasant day.

I settled in for what I was pretty sure was going to be forty white-knuckle days of deprivation. Then something odd happened. I found myself really enjoying the Lenten News Blackout. Enough information seeped through that I wasn't completely in the dark. Tiger Woods? Check. Health care reform? Check. Corey Haim? Check and mate.

But the best part was that I wasn't subjected to the endless opinionating and bloviating that makes up 80% of all news coverage these days. NYT blogs and columns, NPR's "in-depth" coverage, and everything on Slate and Salon -- it's all "analysis," which is mediaspeak for guesses from people who aren't any smarter than you or I. Frankly, it's hard enough to hear a constant stream of political opinions from my friends and friends of friends on Facebook, let alone muster up the wherewithal to have another argument in my mind with Ross Douchehat and the random idiots who leave comments everywhere. This Lent has been like a vacation from the non-stop conga line of opinions, which as we all know are like anuses -- everyone has one and no one wants to hear about yours.

We used to live in a time when there wasn't a 24-hour news cycle, when the half-hour's worth of stuff that happened that day could be summarized for you in, well, a half an hour. I miss those days, and this Lenten News Blackout has given me a chance to revisit that time, when the signal-to-noise ratio was a little bit higher. Easter is coming, and for most people it will be a chance to pig out on chocolate or gorge themselves on french fries or get caught up on all that pornography they've missed. But I'm not so sure I'm ready to go back just yet.

Plus, not futzing around on the computer in the evenings has gotten me caught up with some great music. Have you heard this? This is what I listened to last Wednesday instead of hearing about the latest reason I should be mad at Bill O'Reilly.

03 Equinox.mp3

 

 

A pleasant little surprise today -- it turns out that the Sage of Tippo himself, Mr. Mose Allison has a new album out today. The Way of the World is on the Anti label and was produced by Joe Henry, so I was all set for the kind of approach Henry provided so perfectly for Solomon Burke a few years back, with more guest writers and a rebranding for the NPR crowd. And although the record does have an earthier tone than Allison's 1990s Blue Note discs (including some swampy blues guitar from Greg Leisz), it's still very much Mose being Mose, which is always welcome news.

At 82, Allison's wit remains as sharp as ever, fixed as it is on himself in "My Brain" (which is "always workin' / as long as you got that coffee perkin') and society as a whole on "I Know You Didn't Mean It." "Modest Proposal," meanwhile, suggests we might do well to "give God a vacation" after being "24 hours a day on call," allowing us a chance to "start making sense today." In these heated times, where just about everybody sounds like a wacko, that doesn't sound all that crazy.

All these sentiments are delivered in Allison's trademark Southern gentleman's drawl, which lends an air of decorum to the proceedings. The songs are shorter on The Way of the World, too, with a lot less soloing that you'd expect from a jazz release. That's a positive too; Mose's strong suit has always been his lyrics, and this approach keeps things focused quite nicely. This might not be the ideal introduction to Mose Allison -- I'd start with his '60s work on Atlantic, but it's a terrific indication that his brain is, as he says, always tickin'.

My Brain.mp3

Based on a cursory glance around the webs, the line on the latest Drive By Truckers appears to be that it's a typically solid effort from the group, and the subtext seems to be that that's a little disappointing. Even though Patterson Hood is quietly establishing himself as one of the great songwriters, and Mike Cooley has not, to my knowledge, recorded a bad song yet, people seem to be holding this disc at arm's length. For all the good reviews, I'm getting the sense that folks are still expecting them to make the Great American Rock Album, Post-Millennial Edition. They may not be sure what that means, but they're pretty sure The Big To-Do isn't it.

Never mind, of course, that this is the same group that made its name singing borderline novelties like "Buttholeville" and "Demonic Possession," so the level of growth they've demonstrated is pretty impressive. (I liked the Truckers during those days, but I really prefer them now that they're less afraid to play it straight.) Even songs that could have been played for laughs (This Fucking Job, The Fourth Night of My Drinking) carry a touch of gravitas.

And while 2008's Brighter Than Creation's Dark led off with the beautiful but not especially rousing "Two Daughters and a Beautiful Wife," which set an appropriately somber tone, The Big To-Do kicks off on just the right note with the Damn the Torpedoes-esque "Daddy Learned to Fly." Kudos to Hood and Co. for thinking in terms of the glories of the right Side-1/Track-1.

In this day and age we expect great statements to arrive fully formed. But I'll wager that that hasn't really been the case since the days of Sgt. Pepper, and the fear of being called a hipster/poser/dad rocker has led to a lot of bet-hedging and wishy-washy 3-star reviews. So allow me: The Big To-Do is a terrific album. This is one I'll be revisiting quite a bit. 11 and a half stars.

Daddy Learned To Fly.mp3

Well, it all started out innocently enough. The entire Qualifier staff planned a retreat where we could generally get our heads together to make 2010 a blogging year to remember. But what began as a three-day retreat gradually devolved into a two-month long quagmire of bitter recriminations, passive-aggressive lashing out and hurled crockery. We had only just begun to pick up all the figurative and literal pieces when the horrible news came over the telex that Alex Chilton had died. Instinctively, we re-bonded in the name of musical geekery, and here we are again.

I kid, but Chilton's death was a blow, and it did get me to thinking about writing again. I'll begin with this appreciation, and then I've got some other stuff planned starting next week. Time's always a-wastin', it turns out.

There have been a lot of earnest appreciations of Chilton's work with Big Star, and while I do dearly love those three discs (acquiring an original 1972 Ardent pressing of #1 Record was one of the major highlights of my vinyl buying career), I came by his music through his less-discussed solo work. In 1988 he released his "comeback" album High Priest, and I was immediately drawn into his sloppy, funky guitar playing and withering drawl. It wasn't the blues, exactly, but for a suburban college kid trying to navigate the music beyond the local classic rock station, it was just the right fit.

In interviews, Chilton was always dismissive of the Big Star years, and I get the impression that stems from the general unpleasantness of that time -- broken friendships and bad drugs. He seemed happier about his Box Tops days, and happier still to be playing the New Orleans infused R&B/rockabilly blend that populated his later albums. I got out his last studio album 2000's Set *, for my drive to work yesterday, and was reminded once again of just what a great guitarist he was. He careens from chunky jazz chords into rockabilly leads all the time, creating the illusion that it could all go off the rails at any time.

Give his version of "There Will Never Be Another You" a listen, and remember Alex Chilton in his element. Then go listen to more.

08 There Will Never Be Another You.mp3

Presented in no particular order and without comment, here's the rest of the stuff that made this decade a lot better than Time Magazine would have you believe:

The Hold Steady: Separation Sunday

Dirty Projectors: Bitte Orca

The Gourds: Cow Fish Fowl or Pig

New Pornographers: Challengers

Josh Ritter: Hello Starling

Josh Rouse: 1972

Drive By Truckers: Brighter than Creation's Dark

The Hold Steady: Stay Positive

Art Brut: Bang Bang Rock & Roll

Lupe Fiasco: Food and Liquor

Brian Wilson: Smile

Ron Sexsmith: Exit Strategy of the Soul

Drive By Truckers: A Blessing and a Curse

Sufjan Stevens: Illinois

Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros: Global a-Go-Go

Neko Case: Fox Confessor Brings the Flood

Soundtrack: I'm Not There

Lambchop: Nixon

Roll with You: Eli Reed and the Paperboys

Spoon: Gimme Fiction

XTC: Wasp Star: Apple Venus, Vol. 2

Laura Viers: Saltbreakers

Okkervil River: The Stage Names

Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane: Live at Carnegie Hall

Accelerate: R.E.M.

White Stripes: White Blood Cells

Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes

Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins: Rabbit Fur Coat

Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago

Joe Henry: Scar

Randy Newman: Harps and Angels

Wilco: Sky Blue Sky

Avett Brothers: I and Love and You

Dirty Projectors: Rise Above

The Bad Plus: Prog

Loretta Lynn: Van Lear Rose

Paul Simon: Surprise

Midlake: The Trials of Von Occupanther

Radiohead: In Rainbows

Josh Ritter: The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter

Arctic Monkeys: Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not

Dr. Dog: Fate

The Wood Brothers: Ways Not to Lose

Lay It Down: Al Green

Kings of Leon: Youth and Young Manhood

She & Him: She & Him

Girl Talk: Feed the Animals

 

 

Considering how straight-ahead/major key/easily accessible the Hold Steady's third album, Boys and Girls in America, is, I have to say that is was for some reason a grower for me. It was the first disc that Fresh and I reviewed for the Chicken Dinner Newspaper, and maybe I was just trying too hard to listen like a critic. But no matter, once this record got its hooks in me, it never really let go. In December 2006 I was giving a bit of a shrug; in February 2007 I found myself humming "You Can Make Him Like You" while Mrs. Q was looking at picture frames at Ikea. By the time spring had rolled around I was listening to it on repeat in the car for days on end. Since then I've seen the group twice, which is purt-near a Herculean feat for a guy who doesn't make it to 10:30 p.m. all that much anymore.

Sure, by the time Boys and Girls came around, the Hold Steady had introduced enough bar-band big beat into their act that it was sure to resonate with an old-timey guy like me. But even so, Craig Finn brings a novelist's touch to his tales of teenage wastelandery and pill-fueled mayhem. He's become one of the smartest lyricists in rock, and I find his efforts to sing a bit more (rather than just make like a Midwestern Mark E. Smith) to be more than welcome.

Is the group's preceding Separation Sunday a "better" album? Hard to say, and it was certainly a contender for this list, but I'm giving the advantage to Boys and Girls in America if for no other reason than it's the disc that yanked me out of my vintage vinyl comfort zone and back into the modern age. It might not have been that far of a trip, but it was just what a guy who was looking at the wrong side of forty needed.

03 Hot Soft Light.mp3

If you had asked me a few years ago, I would have told you that the Gourds were on their way to much bigger things. Like most people, I first heard about the group via their cover of Snoop Dogg's "Gin and Juice." Unlike most people, though, I wasn't under the impression that it was Phish performing (thanks for nothing, mislabeled Napster files!). As I went digging, I discovered that this was a terrific roots-rock group led by two accomplished songwriters, Jimmy Smith and Kev Russell. And when Bolsa de Agua dropped in September 2000, I was convinced that it was just a matter of time before more folks got on the trolley.

 

From the first seconds of the first track, "El Paso," I was swept away. I was reminded of course of the Band, and their lyrics reminded me of Dylan at his most playful. They're lyrics that your brain wants to chew on like Bazooka, and they're also surprisingly literate. They even pilfer a bit from Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca for "Flamenco Cabaret" and tackle religion here and there ("Jesus Christ with Signs Following," "Hallelujah Shine").

 

Over the years, it seems that their bluegrass proficiency may have attracted the attention of the jam-band crowd. Maybe that does the band a disservice (or maybe I'm being overly intolerant of jam-bands*), but it has made me slightly less reluctant to shout my Gourds love from the rooftops. Still and all, they've made consistently good, and occasionally great, albums throughout the decade, and they belong at the #2 spot if for no other reason than the fact that just about everyone I've played this record for has become a convert. That's tough to do in this increasingly fragmented age.

09 Hallelujah Shine.mp3

*No, I'm not.

If you know me, you know this was pretty well unavoidable. There was bound to be some Bob on this list somewhere. But even if I weren't a touch obsessed with our boy Zimmy, this album was bound to be contender regardless.

The 1980s and '90s were a difficult time for Dylan. He was releasing terrible albums, his live shows were a shambles, and he was well on his way toward squandering his status as a rock pioneer. Plenty of people my age and younger were writing him off altogether. But then something extraordinary occurred -- Bob Dylan found his voice again. In 1997 he released Time Out of Mind, a dark rumination on mortality that stands among his very best work.

Of course, Bob's done this to us before; he's followed up rubbish with brilliance and then just as quickly reverted back to rubbish. So while optimism was cautious at best when the time came for a follow-up, there was good reason to be cheerful when he released Love and Theft, a far lighter affair that replaced the swampy bubblings of Time Out of Mind with dashes of rockabilly, gutsy, uptempo blues and pre-rock croonery.

I'll never forget the morning I first heard it, in fact. It was the day the album came out. I drove along under a cerulean blue sky, my fingers tapping on the steering wheel as I made my way to my job as a news guy. As I moseyed in, still humming a bit of "Summer Days," I was puzzled by the tension in people's faces. September 11, 2001.

03 Summer Days.mp3

It's a little hard not to link the two in my mind, but Love and Theft was the album that I'd turn to when the 9/11 news, and the ensuing "analysis," got to be too much. With its references to knock-knock jokes, booty calls and Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, it still offers a welcome respite.

This is going to sound like heresy to some people, but I've had a sense that Tom Waits spent a lot of this decade treading water. Blood Money, Alice and Real Gone are fine albums, but how much they really add to Waits' repertoire is debatable. I can say I haven't dug them out all that often since I first bought them. But as soon as I heard about Orphans, this inveterate Waits bootleg collector was intrigued. Collecting the stray tracks from compilations and soundtracks and adding leftover songs from previous albums in one three-disc set, Waits is creating an alternate history of his post-Island career. And while the results might make for a collection too rich to take in all at once, it's great fun to dip into.

For a while there, it seemed that no tribute albums could be released without Waits contributing a track. Orphans offers his take on acts as diverse as Kurt Weill and the Ramones, plus songs that appeared on the soundtrack to everything from Dead Man Walking to Shrek 2.

The set is divided between Brawlers (tougher, bluesier numbers), Bawlers (tender ballads) and Bastards (selections from Waits' own cavalcade of human oddities). You'll laugh, you'll cry, and you'll probably also get a little creeped out. Regardless of which Waits you're in the mood for. Sometimes it takes a good closet cleaning to get the inspiration flowing again. Orphans has me looking forward to wherever Waits' muse takes him next.

16 Take Care of All My Children.wma