Two trees, two species, two colors, one block. And this is peak autumn. Rain is coming on tomorrow and that means the leaves will go, the cold front behind it will settle in and blah, blah, blah.
It’ll be in the 50s next week. And soon after denial will give way to grim acceptance and the countdown to April will begin.
I need about two dozen different ways to say that, so I can return to this trope at least once a week between now and then.
My contribution to the cause today was this. Meetings. And preproduction meetings for videos I have to shoot this week. Also I spent some time on a quixotic search for a delivery that’s somewhere in the building, but nowhere in the building. The UPS note says “Desk.” Well, sir or ma’am, this is a school, and there are a lot of desks, and also offices. Each one of those have desks. I have checked them all, and the administrative desks, and unoccupied desks. And also the loading dock. Nothing.
We’re going to get caught up on the Re-Listening Project here. I’m filling space and time on the blog from an in-car project, where I’m working my way through all of my old CDs in chronological order. None of these are reviews, but sometimes there’s something fun, and at least the embedded music has potential. All of these discs (eventually) cross genres in a haphazard way and today is a slight example of that. There’s no larger theme here. It is, as I’ve been saying, a whimsy, as music should be. So fall back to the mid 1990s with me, won’t you.
I don’t understand the point of a sampler in the CD format. At this late date the process seems too slow. Loading a disc, playing that song or two, swapping it to something else if you don’t like the whole mix. And maybe that is informed by always preferring a full record.
Which makes me wonder why I have this, Loaded Volume 1. (I don’t think there was ever a Volume 2.) This is an EMI sampler, and I think I probably picked it up in a bunch, and likely for just one or two songs. But what an eclectic mix beyond the electronic, rock, pop and synth-pop.
I was never invested in this collection, so let’s explore the track by track listing.
EMF’s “Unbelievable.” Maybe I bought it for this song. I think I used this on a radio show for some reason in college. (Hey, it was 1996.)
D Generation’s “No Way Out.” I probably listened to this one more closely this week than I did back then.
It’s hard to imagine a time that Lenny Kravitz ever needed to have a single included on a sampler.
Radiohead’s “Creep” holds up remarkably well, even if they seldom play it live.
Here’s an interesting story about Jesus Jones and “The Devil You Know.” There is no interesting story about this song. I checked. This is a 1993 release, though, which is why it sounds like the perfect bridge between the 1980s and 1990s, from several decades removed.
Yeah, no idea why Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark is on this CD, especially in the all-important track six spot.
The song from Blur you knew before “Song 2.”
In 1993 Duran Duran did Unplugged and “The Wedding Album” which is as big a late-career comeback a pop band can ask for. And two years later, “Come Undone” was found here. There’s a lot of Duran Duran that is aging well, considering, and I am still wondering what’s going on at this point in this disc.
There’s a nice acoustic version of Tasmin Archer’s “Sleeping Satellite” up next. This was her 1992 debut, which went number one in the United Kingdom and Ireland and reached the top 20 in 13 other countries and peaked at number 32 on the US Billboard Hot 100.
Which sets us up nicely for Milla Jovovich’s “Gentleman Who Fell.” She looks 19 on her late night debut with Conan.
Then you get Sinead O’Connor’s “I Believe In You.” Say what you will, and heaven knows a lot has been said about O’Connor, but this song is amazing.
Then there’s … “Alleluia, Beatus Vir Qui Suffert” from The Benedictine Monks Of Santo Domingo De Silos.
Interesting story, this song was part of a series of recordings from the 1970s and 1980s. It didn’t sell. A different record label, an EMI imprint, re-released it in 1994. “Chant” became the best-selling album of Gregorian chant ever released. It peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard 200, and was double platinum, two million copies sold in the United States, four million worldwide.
Then comes Shara Nelson, “What Silence Knows.” This is the title track from her debut album. This song was never released as a single, but that album was a substantial hit in the UK in 1993-1994.
And here’s a B-side from the critically important Jeffrey Gaines.
The last song is from The Specials, and I found myself wondering, while listening to “Ghost Town” the other day, if this was, in fact, the first ska song I ever heard.
Probably not, but maybe?
Anyway, should you buy this record? Do you like these songs? Will you be impressed to learn that the bonus track, not listed here, is the best song on the thing?
I’m not going to spoil that one, but if you think it is possible that, among the assembled great music above, the best song isn’t here, then maybe you should make a purchase. Here’s an incentive. The hidden track was 40 years old when this record was distributed. And it’s almost 30 years older even now.
There’s one more CD to discuss here, but it’s another one of those that was a cassette upgrade in my earliest days in the new medium. I found out about this band from some improbable late night live show. A few weeks later they were on SNL. And I’m not sure if it was days before that network appearance or in the days immediately after that I bought the debut record. It’s the first of four or six that will wind up in this project.
I was a high school freshman, listening to this too much. Way too much. Couldn’t wait to get home from school to put this on, too much. Started wondering what that meant, too much. Way too much. Nirvana didn’t interest me. I didn’t get Alice in Chains. Soundgarden and Stone Temple Pilots were coming my way soon. Pearl Jam was where all of it started. It meant a lot.
It meant adolescence and grunge music happened at about the same time, a ridiculous combination, and it means I’m mentally prepared if flannel and Doc Martens make a comeback. (Maybe they shouldn’t?)
“Ten,” for a 30-year-old debut, in a then-still developing genre, holds up remarkably well as a complete album. It was later that Pearl Jam would become something like The Doors.
