1. The Hypstrz Live at the Longhorn: The Complete Recordings, The Hypstrz. I spent the day after Thanksgiving at the Mall Of America, interviewing shoppers about Black Friday. From an easy chair at Starbucks, I watched an alternative rock band, a reggae band, and a hip-hop crew decorate the red-carpeted stage. At Hot Topic, I bought some Green Day, Guns 'n' Roses, and Ramones gifts, browsed the trashy rock chick wear, and listened to one of the store's regulars go on about how the store hasn't "sold out" yet by stocking Avril Lavigne CDs or T-shirts. I finally collapsed in a leather chair in the Bose store, and did my best to avoid eye contact with the wheezing Don Henley DVD that was trying to sell me flat-screen high-def slow-death.

It all got me thinking about what the definition of "rock 'n' roll" is in 2005, and if it even matters anymore. As the chlorine of Underwater World found its way to my critical faculties, I decided that maybe "rock 'n' roll" is in the eye of the beholder, and that it has finally coagulated into one big happy slop of rebellion and spirit and half-off with your next purchase.

Then I went home, took a nap, and went to the Turf Club.

Where there were people smoking, getting dizzy from the nicotine, and drunk on the beer and whiskey. Where there were many of the old-school '60s- and otherwise-influenced punk/rock bands representing, including Whole Lotta Loves, Man-Sized Action, Funseekers, Conquerors, Good Joe, and TVBC.

Where there were youngsters with enough sense to catch 'em while they can, and oldsters flashing back on the golden years and comparing notes on all the cool new shit they've heard on the Current, Radio K, and KFAI. Where there was former City Pages music scribe Dan Heilman, rocking like there was no today or tomorrow. Where there was Eric Eskola, with a newspaper spread out in front of him, waiting for the band to come on, reading about the new Lenny Kaye Nuggets release for kids. Where there was local rock historian Todd Mahon, taking it all in for future reference.

And there were the Hypstrz. The Batson brothers, sons of the great Minneapolis Tribune columnist Larry Batson; Johnny Haga, drummer and guiding spirit of so many bands over the years, and Randy WEISS, the nimble-fingered bass wizard who one onlooker knowingly characterized as "not human." They soared through their set with more rock forgotten than most of us have in our holsters combined��""Action Woman," "6654321," "Can't Explain," "I Can See For Miles," "Don't Look Back," "Let's Talk About Girls," "Batman," "The Ballad Of The Green Berets," "You're Gonna Miss Me," and so on and so on and so much more. I bought two T-shirts on the way out, the kind you can't get at Hot Topics, and when they blitzed "My Generation," it was recast as not an anthem of youth, but as a secret code to everyone in the room, and a warning to all who would co-opt rock's true heart: Don't try and dig what we all say.

2. "This Is To Mother You," "Black Boys On Mopeds," "Thank You For Hearing Me," "Dancing Lessons," "Throw Down Your Arms," "Hold Back The Night," "Marcus Garvey," "Nothing Compares 2 U," "Vampire," "Haunted," "Make Me A Channel Of Your Peace," "He Prayed," etc. etc. Sinead O'Connor. As far as I can recall, she hasn't sung here since Riverfest in the early '90s, and as far as I'm concerned the news that she's going to be in my town tonight is cause for celebration, the kind reserved for heads of state and Big & Rich.

But that's not happening, probably due to some flotsam backlash from her pope-rip on Saturday Night Live, which, it turns out, is an entirely reasonable reaction in these Catholic-homophobic times. Or maybe it's because she's considered a relic of the '80s, or maybe it's because she's an angry woman-child constantly trying find inner peace; never a pretty sight.

I could go on. Or, I could go on about how I think she's probably the most heart-rending singer of my generation, or talk about how she got it right when she told the Irish Times that she's attracted to journalists because, "Singers and journalists are a lot alike; we're both a little bonkers." Or I could just bask in that voice, which almost always does it's healing thing, in whatever genuflection-worthy incarnation it finds itself in, like with Sly and Robbie tonight.

3. "Thank You Friends," Big Star. Driving around on Thanksgiving Day, post-feast and -family fun, Mark Wheat perfectly played this, my favorite prayer to friends gone but not forgotten.

4. "Catalina," Bellwether. Prettiest damn song on this mix.

5. "Our Time," Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Two lovers come out of the closet and gird their loins for "the year to be hated"; the rest of us shamelessly rubberneck.

6. "Going Home," The Rolling Stones. Anyone who thinks these cats are defined by their current corporate caricature should hear the grit and grime of Aftermath (1966) and this 12-minute radio-unfriendly blues work-up, which finds the singer unspooling and experimenting with his harp, diaphragm, and word-scraps.

7. "The Littlest Birds," The Be Good Tanyas. "The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs." Chirps to live by. Here's a chirping bird��"raw, passionate, heart-on-screen--for all ages.

8. "Outdoor Type," The Lemonheads. Heard this one in my head at the dog park by the river the other day, as he and his pals romped in the Narnia-like winter woods.

9. "You Tell Me," Thea Gilmore. If you're like me, you hear Mary Lucia play this and you want to call her up and say, "You feel like that, too? Wanna go get a beer and cry in it together?" But you don't, because, after all, it's just song, and talking about it would cheapen it; the way talking to singers about singing can sometimes feel silly. So you just listen to stuff like this and understand that when Thea talks about poetry being "self-defense," she's singing for everyone who makes songs and poems their own as a way of dealing. Plus, you can do the dishes to it.

10. "Addicted," Saw Doctors. A Celtic-folk version of the Gun Club's "She's Like Heroin To Me."

11. "Mucky Fingers," Oasis. Best rock song I've heard in ages. Listen to that piano ramp-up after he sings "walk on." (Hey, Bri, when are you gonna get me that file of Liam and Noel brawling in the studio?) Hearing it over and over the past few days made me want to read something I wrote about Oasis's Minneapolis debut, which in fact was not greeted by "a line snaking its way down Hennepin," but attended by about 300 people:

St. Paul Pioneer Press (MN) October 14, 1994 Section: Express Edition: Metro Final Page: 4C Memo:WHO: Oasis with special guests King Can WHEN: 9:30 tonight WHERE: Uptown Bar, 3018 Hennepin Ave. Mpls. TICKETS: $3 CALL: 823-5704

OASIS OFFERS A BREATH OF FRESH AIR IN STAGE STYLE
Jim Walsh, Pop Music Critic

In the mate-eat-mate world of British music journalism, the weekly rock rags New Musical Express and Melody Maker vie for readers the way American tabloid sharks vie for fresh O.J. juice: be first or be last; find a darling-du-jour, hype 'em far beyond any reasonable or realistic expectations, then shoot 'em down the following week.

Not exactly a formula that ensures measured coverage, but every once in awhile those zany Brits get it right. And in a big way, almost by mistake, they've gotten Oasis right.

The one-year-old Manchester quintet (singer Liam Gallagher, guitarist Noel Gallagher, guitarist Paul Arthurs, bassist Paul McGulgan, drummer Tony McCarroll) has appeared on the cover of both NME and Melody Maker, and in short order has become a fixture in the week-to-week gossip/gig guides. And for good reason: The group's debut album "Definitely Maybe" is one of the year's most delicious rock records - a tossed salad of dirty white boys T. Rex, the Stones, the Stone Roses, Bowie, the Pistols, the Who, the Soft Boys.

And, of course, the Beatles. "Definitely Maybe" is flecked with Fab Four references - both lyrical and musical, and at a recent live gig, Liam introduced John Lennon's "I Am The Walrus" by saying, "This is a song by the best band in the world." But unlike so many pop groups who claim the Beatles as an influence, there is nothing sugary or conventional about Oasis; their sound is as raw as it is melodic, irresistible as it is derivative, but steeped firmly in the present.

And like their influences, Oasis take their mission seriously. Interviews are invariably filled with brash, bold statements that claim superiority over most of their contemporaries, and that insist that their overnight success hasn't taken them by surprise. And by all reports, their live thing (regularly and curiously described as "debauchery") isn't exactly a pull-out-all-the-stops physical rock SHOW. Instead, the band is rumored to stand, cockily, stone still on stage, eschewing between-song patter in favor of a streamlined attack that spits out ragged ballads and glam-rockers such as "Rock 'n' Roll Star," "Live Forever," "Cigarettes & Alcohol," "Supersonic," and "Married With Children."

In the classic sense of the word (and "classic" is a good word to apply to Oasis), Oasis feels like an old-fashioned singles band, the likes of which hasn't eminated from merry old England since the Jam. Yikes. The mere invocation of the name of that hallowed Britband begs a question: can Oasis make it in America? Plenty of Anglo acts - from the Smiths, to Blur, Suede, Ride, and countless other recipients of the NME-Melody Maker baptism - have been sensations in the U.K., but barely dented the larger American consciousness, not to mention charts.

Never mind that, as you read this, there's probably a line of true believers snaking its way down Hennepin Avenue in front of the Uptown Bar for the Oasis gig tonight. And never mind the fact that in July, Noel played guitar with Crazy Horse at a gig in London, cementing his band's credit in Yank heaven. The fact is, guitar rock xenophobia is alive and well and living in modern rock fans, more and more of whom subscribe to the adage "Buy American."

But if Oasis is any indication, I for one am ready for the umpteenth British invasion to storm America. Because when Liam sings, in his best Johnny Rotten-cum-Marc Bolan squawk, "You're not down with who I am/Look at you now/You're all in my hands/Tonight I'm a rock 'n' roll star," he's not boasting. He's telling it like it is, how it will be, and echoing a sentiment his hero Lennon once demanded of his world: Gimme some truth.

Copyright (c) 1994 St. Paul Pioneer Press

12. "Bad News (Don't Bother Me)," The Sugarhill Gang. Thank you for reading the Star Tribune. Thank you for reading the Star Tribune. Thank you for reading the Star Tribune. Thank you for reading the Star.

13. "Gloria," Patti Smith. Thank you for writing this, Will Hermes, but it wasn't just New York kids who fell hard for Ms. Smith. I remember driving around Lake Harriet in 1975 with some of Catholic high school buddies, and cranking the opening line, "Jesus died for someone's sins, but not mine," which garnered a nervous laugh and an "OK, buddy," from the youngest in the back seat.

Thirty years later, it sounds as dangerous as she sounds wise: "Rock 'n' roll is our cultural voice. I saw it evolve in my lifetime��"I'm gonna be 59 in December��"and it was revolutionary, in every way. It gave young people an outlet to channel all this new energy. I mean, look at what's happening in Paris right now. Part of me wishes I could just go into the streets and say, y'know, 'What the fuck? Here-here's a Marshall; here's a Strat.' That's the beauty of rock 'n' roll. It's a voice."

14. "White City," Erin McKeown. I suppose it's easy to take the Current for granted, but there was a time in this town when the radio dial was a pre-programmed pit that could've been straight out of Anywheresville. I heard Thorn play this the day after Thanksgiving as I headed to the mall, and then the dog park. The first snow was fresh on the streets, the city was beautiful, and who-the-fuck-is Erin McKeown was going on about it all.

15. "Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow," Parliament-Funkadelic. Here's a cool piece on P-Funk that talks about the meaning of this battle cry; here's what Clinton told me about it a few years ago...

St. Paul Pioneer Press (MN)

December 14, 1993
Section: Express
Edition: Metro Final
Page: 8B

UNCLE JAM (STILL) WANTS YOU!//AFTER FIVE DECADES OF FIGHTING FOR OUR FREEDOM TO FUNK, PRESIDENT GEORGE CLINTON BRINGS HIS MESSAGE TO A NEW GENERATION.
Jim Walsh, Staff Writer

The first time he said it, George Clinton didn't even remember what he said. It was 1967, and his band, the Parliaments, were performing at a club in Boston called the Sugar Shack. The Parliaments came well before Clinton's trailblazing Parliament-Funkadelic collectives of the '70s; a doo-wop outfit that eschewed the genre's matching sweaters and three-piece suits of the day and opted instead for helmets, fencing masks and robes that were more in line with the era's burgeoning psychedelic movement.

The first time he said it, George Clinton was tripping on acid. The Parliaments were experimenting with a raw melange of slow, dirty blues and embryonic funk. That night at the Sugar Shack, the band was laying down an especially nasty groove that was bathed in moody minor chords and bumped along by their leader's cosmic comic-book ad-libbing and hallucinogenic-inspired beat poetry.

The first time he said it, George Clinton might well have lost it forever to the moment, were it not for an "artsy-fartsy college friend who talked to me about Nietzsche and Ayn Rand and all that stuff." The kid had made a habit of sitting in the audience at Parliaments' gigs and meticulously scribbling down verbatim passages from Clinton's improvs. After the Parliaments ended their set at the Sugar Shack, he presented Clinton with a scrap of paper. It read: "Free your mind and your ass will follow."

"To me, it was nonsensical and pseudo-philosophical, and I cracked up every time I heard myself say something like that," Clinton says by phone from his 178-acre Michigan homestead, where he lives with his wife of three years and two of his grandchildren. "Years later, I realized things flow through you that you don't even have to know what you're talking about.

"But I was like everybody else: I learned later that it does mean something. I mean, I write lyrics all the time, and I knew it had a flow to it, but it's deeper than I even thought it was. Because now, everybody thinks that was genius to be able to do a record like that. When he came up to me and said, 'This is what you said,' I believed him, because he was knowledgeable. So whatever, if he said it meant something, I thought, 'I'm gonna keep it.' "

Good thing he did. Since that fateful night, "Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow" (which turned up on the seminal 1970 Funkadelic album of the same name) has become a cry of liberation in the '80s and '90s: En Vogue's cleaned-up (antiseptic?) reprise of it was a chart-topping smash last year, the Clinton-Red Hot Chili Peppers performance of it was a highlight of last year's Grammy Awards show, and it is currently invoked by rock critics and headline writers all over the world, at the clip of (and this is a modest estimate) 20 times per week.

16. "Old College Try," Mountain Goats. As durable a declaration of romantic love as it gets.

17. "The Zamboni Song," Gear Daddies. As fate would have it, two glossy publications saw fit to pay tribute to the Zamboni and the Dads who love them this week. Here's a little more ice-time from Martin Zellar...

St. Paul Pioneer Press (MN)

September 29, 2000
Section: EXPRESS
Edition: CITY
Page: 1E
Column:POP MUSIC

THE ICEMAN BUMMETH: ZELLAR'S 'ZAMBONI' IS JUST TOO DARN HOT
Jim Walsh, Staff Writer

At approximately 7:40 p.m. today at the Xcel Energy Center, as 18,000 hockey-starved Minnesotans bask in the afterglow of the first period of the first NHL game to feature a Minnesota team in seven years, another bit of history will be made.

Out of the p.a. speakers will come the sound of an acoustic guitar, a giddy-up drum beat and a shy country-rock shuffle. Beer glasses will be raised. Backsides will wiggle. Mouths will open, and the sing-along will begin.
"Well, I went down to the local arena, asked to see the manager man," sings a plaintive dreamer. "He came from his office and said, 'Son, can I help you? I looked at him and said, 'Yes, you can. Hey, I wanna drive the Zamboni. I wanna drive the Zamboni. Yes, I do."'

The song is "Zamboni," and the voice of the kid-dreamer is Martin Zellar who, as lead singer for the Gear Daddies, wrote the song in 1984 in about 15 minutes in the bedroom of his apartment in Uptown Minneapolis. It is included as a hidden track on the Gear Daddies' 1990 album "Billy's Live Bait," and, in terms of airplay, has become Zellar's most popular song. And most lucrative.

"It's made me a lot of money. A ton," says Zellar from his home in Austin, Texas, where he has lived for the past two years with his wife, Carolyn, and their two sons. "It's nuts, and it still is. I played hockey, and I sat on the bench a lot, so I did a lot of watching of the ice being cleaned."

That experience - of watching a local guy named Smokey (who is immortalized in the song) driving the Zamboni at Riverside Arena in Zellar's hometown of Austin, Minn. - has translated into something of a phenomenon, on a par with such arena rock-jock anthems as "We Are the Champions" and "Y.M.C.A."

"Zamboni" is now in regular rotation at every NHL and minor-league arena in the United States and Canada. It has been played at the NHL All-Star Game, has appeared in such films as "The Mighty Ducks" and "Mystery, Alaska" and in countless radio and television spots. Then there's the Zamboni Brothers, a novelty act that performs hockey songs exclusively, who have recorded it and adopted it as their theme song.

Ironically enough, Zellar has had a love-hate relationship with "Zamboni." The song was a staple of Gear Daddies shows in the '80s and early '90s, but when the band split up, Zellar stopped playing it because he wanted to distance himself from the Gear Daddies. But his fans had other ideas.

"I didn't play it for a long time," he says. "I thought it would go away, and the exact opposite happened. By not playing it, it became a big deal. It became bigger than it should have, and then I had to explain 400 times a night why I wasn't doing it.

"And the older I got, the harder it was for me to remember why I wasn't doing it. I never had a problem with the song, other than I had a real fear that it was defining me. It's not that I don't like the song, it's just that for too many people, it defined me. It's in no way representative of what I do, or what I've written overall, and I just got huffy about it, like, 'I don't want to be the 'Zamboni man."'

Much of Zellar's fear stemmed from the fact that he thought of "Zamboni" as a novelty song, though it can easily be heard as more than that. On one level, it is about the universal pull of dreams. And for any kid who grew up in Minnesota watching one Zamboni or another clean a rink, the song is a tribute to that magical, mystical machine that glides over the ice and metaphorically smooths over life's rough edges.

"I loved, and still do love, watching the Zamboni," says Zellar. "There's something Zenlike about it. This rough surface, very systematically, goes from that scratched white to this gleaming sheet, strip by strip. There's a real beauty to it."

Two years ago, Zellar broke his "Zamboni" silence and started performing it again in his regular set. While he's "thrilled" at the idea of it being played at the Xcel Energy Center, he says he's not willing to sing it at a Wild game anytime soon. To him, it's still too much of a novelty song.

"I play it because you can't fight it," he says. "You know, Chuck Berry, who was one of the greatest rock 'n' roll songwriters of all time, his only top 10 hit was 'My Dingaling.' Novelty songs just catch on. And now that I know about the money in sports novelty songs, I'm gonna start working on one called 'I Wanna Be an Infield-Groomer'."

Copyright (c) 2000 St. Paul Pioneer Press

18. "That's So You," The Rocket Summer; 19. "Last Time," Ike Reilly; and 20. "Beautiful Day," U2. Don't let it get away-or, as Craig Wright put it in this terrific email essay:

TURKEY HEAVEN
By Craig Wright

It's that time again, people. Time to think about dying.

First, a couple magnificently mournful new songs by a friend came my way in an email. Then, I got an early morning phone call announcing that my brother-in-law was being rushed to the hospital after having had either a heart attack or a stroke. Third, I am haunted continually by concerns about my every ache and pain, and today is no different. Maybe even worse.

It is as if the whole world is saying to me:

We are going down. We are all going down together.

I look around. The world is silent and still, but, as Wallace Stevens wrote, "The stillness is all in the key, all of it is, the stillness is all in the key of that desolate sound."

Life as the Titanic, minus the lifeboats. Life as Flight 11. Life as, well... Death.

And yet, amidst all this credible bad news, we have before us the incredible unfailing reality of the pardoned turkeys.

This past Thanksgiving's Eve, President Bush (the American president) ceremonially "pardoned" two turkeys named, chillingly, Marshmallow and Yam. Instead of being murdered and eaten, they were featured in a parade and will now spend the rest of their lives at Disneyland with many other pardoned turkeys in a sort of Turkey Heaven.

What does this mean?

If I remember correctly, over 200 million turkeys were cooked this past Thanksgiving Day. The average American consumed 21 pounds of turkey in 2004. And America is only, need I remind you, half of the world. Do you know what that means? Do you know how many turkeys are being slaughtered, if I may be permitted to coin a term, "annuglobally?"

A lot. It's, like, a LOT.

It sucks to be a turkey on Earth.

So, to those who love a good cry, the fate of the average turkey seems like yet another fitting metaphor for the human predicament. Turkeys are systematically bred into existence, i.e., forced to live. They spend their lives making very few choices, if any, the conditions of their existence being so completely controlled by powers vaster and much more organized than they. And, though they are unaware of it, their time to die is rigorously appointed and certain.

Well, mostly certain.

Because for any given turkey, there is always a chance that he or she could be one of the two pardoned turkeys. There is always the chance that just as all a turkey's friends in the world are being force-marched up the grated ramp toward the assembly line where they will all be hung upside down and throat-slit with an electrified blade, there is always the slim, slim chance that he or she will be grabbed from the side, rushed like a football to a waiting car, driven to a large white house with a wide green lawn, cooed at, chased, kidded around with, photographed, treated like a god by dozens of babbling adorers, paraded before millions more, and finally deposited in a large, open-air facility full of happy strangers with similar stories.

There is always that chance.

And since there truly is always that chance, I'm forced to admit that I have a choice today in this world of limited choices. Faced with mournful songs of mortality, bad news from far away, and highly localized medical paranoia, I can choose to understand my life and the lives of those around me as "regular turkey lives" or "pardoned turkey lives." And while the odds seem after a casual glance to be weighed massively against the "pardoned turkey" model, all it takes is a second look to turn that beat around.

Look at it this way.

We all made it safely through nine months as zygotes and then embryos in our mother's wombs, the most dangerous place we've ever lived if you measure danger by mortality rates. We made it through the birth canal with little if any trouble. We all survived childhood and adolescence with minor scrapes. And while some lives have already ended in drunken car crashes, cancer wards, cave-ins, or on the battlefields of the world (the American world), we are still here.

We are getting emails. We are looking forward to the holiday season. We are being carried along a colorful, clangorous, culture-wide corridor, mostly by forces beyond our control. We are being smiled at, cooed at, photographed, babbled at, metaphorized, fed, stroked, and, let's be honest, loved.

We are all pardoned turkeys.

Here we are in Turkey Heaven, surrounded by survivors with similar stories. "They grabbed me at dawn on a Wednesday," says one old codger. "I thought I was a goner, for sure." Another one just spreads the love: "Hey! Beautiful day, huh? BEAUTIFUL day."

And he's right. The food is great and there's plenty of it. The weather is mostly terrific. Times are good. Screw that, times are GREAT.

Every day's a freakin' fabulous day in Turkey Heaven.

I know, I know, the end is coming, even in this Turkey Heaven. I'm no dummy. Some turkeys slow down. They stay in bed a little longer. They spend more time remembering other turkeys, old friends long gone, and less time chatting it up out on the green. Some go crazy. Some get sick all at once, fall over, and soon they're hustled away by handlers.

But to where? Even a turkey has to ask: "To where? Where are you taking my friends?
Hey! I thought we got away with this. I thought that was the deal. I thought this was Turkey Heaven! Where are you taking my friends? Where are you taking ME?"

Where are you taking me?

As the poet Gary Snyder reminds us, with not just useful but necessary optimism, "When making an axe handle, the model is close at hand."

Good morning, dear friends.

XO

CW

1. "Song Beneath The Song," Maria Taylor. Phew. What do you mean you haven't heard this? If you've read this far, you could've written it.

2. "A Singer of Songs," Johnny Cash. If my sources are correct, there's a new biopic out about the Man In Black. Forgive my skepticism, but I can't imagine it sears with any more autobiography than this three-minute self-assessment. "I'm just a singer of songs," he croaks in that craggy life-ripped voice, but anyone with ears knows that the "just" isn't justified. As for the soundtrack, why anyone would choose a Hollywood star singing "Ring Of Fire" when this gem from Unearthed is a double-click away is beyond me.

3. "Crazy As A Loon," John Prine. It is now my distinct pleasure to introduce you to the one and only Mad Peeaire, whom you will meet in all his mad glory here on Wednesday. Take it away, Pete: "Philosophy is the only true, authentic science. A hundred ways back to nothin'. The love of wisdom for its own sake. Whom do you serve, if not your creator? Why be pulling for this purposeless pathetic, locked in a loop of 'beat me, bore me, don't ignore me,' posing, posturing, performing? For what? Some shabby little masquerade that says you gotta go in someone else's cotton field and be menial, trivial, superficial? The bored don't know they're boring. The boring don't know they're bored."

4. "Sharp-Cutting Wings (Song to a Poet)," Lucinda Williams. After the recent reading by Galway Kinnell, I got all fan-boy on him when I stood in line for his autograph. "A signature as beautiful as the words," I found myself saying after he decorated the book, and he looked genuinely taken aback��"as only one who's truly open to a spontaneous moment can be; he clasped my hand in the old soulman shake. On my way out, I heard a young woman say to her friend, "God, that was so good. It makes me want to be an old man." I told them to relax, that they had a lot of living to do. They laughed, but I knew what she meant: We should all grow so old to live with half as much verve as Kinnell, not to mention grow some of those gnarly Irish wolfhound eyebrows.

5. "I'm Blessed," Brendan Benson and 6. "Bless Me," Tight Bro's From Way Back When. There's a cool new book out by Rob Brezsny called Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings. The title is self-explanatory, these songs are part of the movement, and now I'll clam up and let Rob talk about his "literary equivalent of a sex-change."

7. "Thanksgiving," Loudon Wainwright III. A teacher recently told me about an essay she received from one of her grade-schoolers. The assignment was to write about Thanksgiving traditions, and the little girl, who has none to speak of, fabricated the classic turkey-day scenario, complete with uncles and aunts and smells and football on the tube. This mourning ballad--which finds Loudon standing at the head of the table, about to cut the bird and delivering a sweetly sardonic prayer--goes out to her, in hopes that she'll someday realize that those with "big plans" sometimes yearn for "no plans," that "family" is what's in front of you at any given moment, and that there's more of those who don't live out the warm-and-fuzzy myth than she's been led to believe.

8. "Happy Right This Second," Trinket. Girly-girl vocals and all, but an eons-old philosophy that echoes so much Zen simplicity, and, somehow, the words of that great emo-rocker Logan Pearsall Smith: "The indefatigable pursuit of unattainable perfection, even though it consists in nothing more than the pounding of an old piano, is what alone gives a meaning to our life on this unavailing star."

9. "I Think They Like Me (Remix)," Dem Franchise Boyz. So disdainful of its own star trappings it could be a PiL single, albeit delivered with the casual cool of Rashad McCants' slo-mo coast-to-coast dunk against Houston.

10. "Please Tell My Brother," Golden Smog. Hey! Wednesday is P.D. Larson's 50th birthday! Please tell my brother I love him as much as this Tweedy stunner, and that I think about him whenever I hear Wilco these days. You might want to do the same thing Wednesday night at the Triple Rock, after hitting Grumpy's for Alicia Corbett and friends' Katrina victims' benefit (7-9 p.m.).

11. "When Something Is Wrong With My Baby," Sam & Dave. Thank you, Lolly Obeda.

12. "Farm Girl," Ike Reilly Assassination. Pssst: Don't tell mom, but every Midwestern boy's fantasy is the farm girl in the loft in the barn, hay in her hair, dirt in her fingernails, grass in her teeth. Why do you think we go so nuts for Sadie Hawkins? Get weak in the knees at frayed jeans shorts? Paper our walls with all that Amish porn? OK, maybe that's just me, but thank heavens Larry Libido from Libertyville and that Mick Jonesian guitar has seen fit to pay tribute to farm girls and the boys who lust after them, all of whom will be lined up at the First Avenue trough Wednesday night.

13. "Thanksgiving Day," Ray Davies. As only a Brit can, this manages to skewer the American Dream, worry about the spinster across town, and ends up giving into the festivities and telling everyone within earshot, "come on over."

14. "What About Everything?," Carbon Leaf. I taught a songwriting and lyrics workshop last week to some St. Paul middle- and high-school kids. This was the tune that generated the most discussion. Imagine 17 teens--hip-hop kids, classic rockers, goof-offs, sensitive artists--lying on their backs, industrial carpet, eyes closed, the vast East Metro suburbs yawning out the window, all joined by this shaky poem about falling leaves and growing up, and all the questions and cusps that come with all those graduations.

15. "Mystery," Van Morrison. Everyone's invited to go down to the Liffey
Saturday night to hear the Belfast Cowboys and wish my mom, Ann Hanna Walsh, a happy 75th birthday. She's earned it; she's my mom, after all.

16. "Cold Water," Damien Rice. A duet, in which the lovers float face down in their future and finally turn to the sky.

17. "Glad and Sorry," Faces. Listen to that lazy fucking piano and those leaning-on-a-fence-post harmonies. Do they make records like this anymore? Are Eller-Lynch still up and singing?

18. "Priests and Paramedics," Pedro The Lion. A parable.

19. "War," Sinéad O'Connor. Bob Marley's classic, as redone by a woman at war with herself and her world, which pretty much describes the entire planet at the moment.

20. "A Thanksgiving Prayer," William S. Burroughs. Difficult to do this justice, what with that glass-guzzling voice and the clattering bones and faux-patriotic strings, so why don't you just shut up about how well-written and inspiring Katherine Kersten's Thanksgiving Day column was and pass the gravy:

Thanks for the wild turkey and the passenger pigeon
Destined to be shit out through
Wholesome American guts
Thanks for a continent to despoil and poison
Thanks for Indians to provide a modicum of challenge and danger
Thanks for vast herds of bison to kill and skin
Leaving carcasses to rot
Thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes
Thanks for the American dream: To vulgarize and to falsify until the bare lies shine through
Thanks for the KKK
For nigger-killin' lawmen, feelin' their notches
For decent church-goin' women, with their mean, pinched, bitter, evil faces
Thanks for "Kill a Queer for Christ" stickers
Thanks for laboratory AIDS
Thanks for Prohibition and the war against drugs
Thanks for a country where nobody's allowed to mind their own business
Thanks for a nation of finks
Yes, thanks for all the memories, alright, let's see your arms
You always were a headache and you always were a bore
Thanks for the last and greatest betrayal of the last and greatest of human dreams.
oil and poison.
Thanks for Indians to provide a modicum of challenge and danger.
Thanks for vast herds of bison to kill and skin leaving the carcasses to rot.
Thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes.
Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until the bare lies shine through.
Thanks for the KKK.
For nigger-killin' lawmen, feelin' their notches.
For decent church-goin' women, with their mean, pinched, bitter, evil faces.
Thanks for "Kill a Queer for Christ" stickers.
Thanks for laboratory AIDS.
Thanks for Prohibition and the war against drugs.
Thanks for a country where nobody's allowed to mind the own business.
Thanks for a nation of finks.
Yes, thanks for all the memories-- all right let's see your arms!
You always were a headache and you always were a bore.
Thanks for the last and greatest betrayal of the last and greatest of human dreams.

1. "When It Began," The Replacements. Spent the weekend writing the liner notes for the forthcoming Warners re-release of All Shook Down; can't stop playing this one, an ode to simpler selves, a swan song to a band that once was young and ready for the world, and/or a sad end to the once-limitless promise of a new love. Sure, they stole it from the Neglecters' "It's So Exciting At The Start," but who's counting?

2. "Sunken Treasure," Wilco. Capo on the second fret. Tweedy on stage at First Avenue, plucking the E string, methodically, pin-droppingly, whispering the first song of the night (Nov. 6), to a world/lover/bandmate/colleague who so obviously does not listen to music, "I am so out of tune with you." And, for all who do, all who gathered in its name this night, "Music is my savior... I was maimed by rock 'n' roll... I was tamed by rock 'n' roll... I was saved by rock 'n' roll... got my name from rock 'n' roll."

3. "Always Love," Nada Surf. Best new song and/or potential tattoo I heard all week: "Love always/hate will get you every time." That is, when the finites and ceilings get you down, remember that love of all shades and stripes is the one thing that can make the world feel unfinished.

4. "President Kennedy," Son House. My brother has this thing he does with his iPod. He asks it a question, and lets the shuffle play God, giving him his answer with the next song. I did it for this mix, asking my iTune library, "What should follow this 1964 song, sung by a black bluesman about his fallen American white hero?" The shuffle landed on...

5. "Beware (Jay-Z Remix)," Panjabi MC. An Indian rapper, bumped by tablas and sitars and Bollywood beats, going off about amore and Amerikkka. Perfect.

6. "Pavlov's Daughter," Regina Spektor. Probably the most original vocal performance on this list; as scat-happy as the opening drum intro it mimics, and more earthy than Fiona Apple's comparatively lightweight jazzercises.

7. "Pour Me Another," Atmosphere. Like all great drinking songs-say, Ike Reilly's "My Wasted Friends," A.C. Newman's "Then Drink To Me Babe," Ottoman Empire's "This Is It," the 'Mats' "Treatment Bound," Wilco's "Passenger Side," Gear Daddies' "Drank So Much Tonight (Just Feel Stupid)," etc. etc.-there is a wistfulness at the heart of the frivolity here, and you can hear it in Slug's strained voice: a gut-feeling that there's something more to life, on the other side of the bar.

7. "In The Sun," Joseph Arthur. This is the first song I put on a mix for my friend, Father Jim Debruckyer, who leaves the tiny St. Leonard's Of Port Maurice parish today and starts at the massive St. Joan of Arc this week. This guy is "my priest," the mere saying of which is something of a miracle, given my Catholic-skeptic roots.

But I believe in, as Arthur sings, "May God's love be with you"��"meaning the far-reaching, all-inclusive, big love that so few get a taste of.

That's what Father Jim has been about, ever since I heard him "preach" the first time: love each other and look out for each other. As he wrote in his stream-of-consciousness column in yesterday's church bulletin: "The Gospel today is really about risk. God challenges us to grow. See what you can do with your life. Of course as Sartre said not so long ago, 'People are hell.' But the corollary often forgotten is 'the problem they are also heaven.' The great challenge of our life is to let go of ourselves long enough to love another, to trust our person with their person, to be vulnerable enough to learn and change."

9. "Stout Hearted Men," Shooby Taylor. Speaking of God-like, God bless Burl Gilyard for laying this one on me. Incredible. The lyrics, in their entirety:

SHOOBY TAYLOR - "STOUT-HEARTED MEN"

Whee, shoo soo sah, shoo soo swah, shoo voo plah, doo doo rah, doo doo sah, doo doo rah
Soo-da-li-twee-daht, soo-da-li-doo-ton-plee-blah

Dwee, dah dah shrah, plah plah sah, dah dah rah, plav da shree, loh ku pah, dav du sah!
Soo-da-li dwee-daht, soo-da-li doo-ton plah-blah

Ray, shah-dah-hah, shah-plah-vrah, sah-vlah-sah, shah-plah-rah, sah-vlah-nah, shah-vlah-hah
Soo-day-li doom-bop, doo-dwee-bee-oo-ton-dwee-bee

Bim, soo-dee-lee dee-dah-lah-bay oo-dayt, dayt, dwee-bay-doo
Shrah, soo, shah, nah, rah, sah, pah, dah, hah
Soo-duh-lay dee daht, soo-duh-lay doh-ton twee-bop

Bim, soo-di-lee dee-buh-lah-bay diddle-ay doat-und vee-bah
Bim, doodle-ay deedle-lah-bay, soodle-ay doo-dah-laht-nn
Dwin-shoodle-ay-doo-goo-la, dwin-shoodle-ay-doo-goo-la
Bim, doo-bah-lah-odel-doo-bah-lah-bah-doo-buh-luh-buh-doo-bah-lah-bah

Bim, zhoo-doo-lay doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee, dah
Soo doo-zhoo-lah doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Poppy, poppy, poppy, poppy, poppy, poppy, poppy, poppy!
Soo shoo-doo-lay doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bah

Bih-mm doo-goo-lah öh-ay-nn doodle-ay hooh-ay-nn doo-goo-lah öh-ay-nn doo-doo-ay
Bih-nn doo-goo-lah öh-ay-nn doo-goo-lah dooh-ay-nn doo-goo-lay oon-da-da-duh

Ooh oopy poopy, poppy poppy, poppy poppy da shra! Poppy da rah! Soo doo-ba-lay doo-dah!
Bim, soo-da-lee doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee doo drah!
Dah dah dah sah, buh doo hah rah!
Ho, ho, ho, ho! So, ho, ro, ho!
Do-o-oh, ho, ho droh, foo-dah-lay-pah
Bim, soo-da-lee dee-dah-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bay doo-ton
Dway, zhoo-da-lee doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Dun, zhoo-da-lee doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Hoppy poppy poppy poppy doppy doppy dop shra!

Bim, shoo-di-lah deedle-ah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Bim soo-da-li duh-dah-lah-shree, soo-duh-lay doo-goo-lah-bay
Oodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee, dum shoo-doo shrah-dah,
Bim duh doh doh doh doh duh doh, bay-ton-doh-bul-ah-oodly-shoo-doo-lay!

Dim, zoo-duh-lay doo-dah-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee oo-ton
Dwen zhoo-doo-lay doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Zschrun, zhoo-duh-lay doo-goo-lah-bah doodle-ay doat-un doh-bay
Peepy, poppy, peepy, poppy, doppy dop-ah foo-di-ah bah

Bim, zoo-duh-lay dee-dah-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Skim, soo-doo-lay doo-goo-lah-bay doodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Vwin, shoo-doo-lay doo-goo-lah-bay oodle-ay doat-un dwee-bee
Dopey dopey dopey dopey driv-duh-doo shpla-a-a-ah!
Tra

10. "Daylight Savings Time," Rank Strangers. Aloha Taylor is the new weather hottie on WCCO. She has never been through a Minnesota winter. We will hear much about this, starting with tomorrow's six-to-eight inches, and it will come to us without us even trying to hear about it, without us even wanting to hear about it; it will come to us through media-osmosis and people will tell us about the new weather gal on Channel 4 and how pretty she is and how she doesn't know what she's gotten herself into and we will try to stop them, but it will be too late, they will talk to us about this like it matters, like it is something we would like to know, and we will not be able to escape hearing about it, we will be told how that gal from the West Coast is doing and how her co-workers rib her about her first winter all the time and we will hear about it and we will all be so much worse for it. Fuck, is it dark out.

11. "Shine Silently," Nils Lofgren. Seems like all I want to do these days is get to silence and aloneness. This sweetly-crooned gem gets at that feeling of sitting by the river, watching the water and leaves go by, kind of like a marriage between "This Little Light Of Mine" and this:

The Wildest Word
by June Robertson Beisch

The Benedictines had it, they knew
the joys of silence, the illuminating of
manuscripts, the careful diffusion of
esoteria.

The pleasures of abstinence.

Get to a point where you can deny yourself anything
and then you are halfway there, some say.
And poems are made
of love not made.

Emily Dickinson refused
the offered touch and reveled in her own
self abnegation. "The wildest word
consigned to man is No," she wrote.

"You love me best when I refuse."

"Imagined love is better than the real,
and occupies the highest branch of Eden's tree,"
wrote Edna St. Vincent Millay.

"Like fallen fruit, lived love is cheap."

12. "Forget That Girl," The Monkees. Thus begineth the crying-in-your-Tullamore Dew trilogy of the broken-hearted sap.

13. "Fix You," Coldplay. Shhh. Don't tell a soul, but every lover's dream is to fix another's battered soul. This one almost does the trick.

14. "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?," Al Green. How can a loser ever win?

15. "Mercy Now," Mary Gauthier. Message for the mess age.

16. "Highway Nine," Eliza Gilkyson. She's at the Cedar Cultural Centre Friday night with Gauthier. Here's hoping she plays this one, along with "Man Of God" and "Coast" and "Requiem" and all the others off Paradise Hotel, the best folk record of the year, along with John Prine's new one.

17. "Mushaboom," Feist. Finally, a little levity for this admittedly dour mix.

18. "Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll," The Killers. The great lost ironic rock single of the year.

19. "Let Me," Paul Revere & The Raiders. I think I used to sing this with my band back in the day-or was it "It'll Only Hurt For A Little While"? Either way, it's a great boy-beast plea, all tube amps and hollow-body guitars and minimal drum kits, and a primal palette-cleanser to the Robert Blyian father-son sex-ed retreat I found myself at last Saturday. Which I'll tell you more about later, if you're lucky.

20. "Exhilarating Sadness," Saw Doctors. One of my favorite songs from one of my favorite people's favorite bands. Here's something cool she wrote recently about her recent stay in Ireland:

My wish is her command in Dingle

Mrs. Barbara Carroll, Manager of Milestone B&B, provides exquisite hospitality on behalf of Dingle, County Kerry, Ireland. When my family visited Milestone in October 2005, she took us under her wing continuously throughout the weekend. Each morning she took every party into the living room to consult about their individual travel plans for that day, offering practical advice, local lore, and town stories about the sites in the vicinity of the Ring of Kerry.

During one of these conversations, I brought up a movie, "Into the West". The Irish film had topped my wish list for years but was not available stateside. Barbara mentioned that her only film on hand was "Ryan's Daughter", set down the road. When I returned home from my sight seeing, I found a copy of "Into the West" on her coffee table, waiting for me. Barbara had made two trips to locate the movie. She watched the feature with us and annotated the scenes. Afterwards she answered our questions about Irish society that the story raised.
The breakfast aspect of this B&B is phenomenal. The menu surpasses the traditional filling but unvaried Irish breakfast. Imagine scrambled eggs and salmon molded into local recognizable objects. Brilliant and delicious.

When we complimented the chef on the soda bread, we found a loaf ready for us to take with us on our departure.

My physical disability and my wheelchair make traveling and finding lodging a gamble. The Carrolls understood my situation perfectly as they have a nephew who also has cerebral palsy. They greeted us in the parking lot and helped us settle in to expedite the arrival and check-in process. My speech impairment did not impede any communication. The Carrolls recognized and tapped into my passion for Irish history and sustained a dialogue all weekend. I value this direct but rare learning experience.

The Carrolls have worked tirelessly for most of the year. I wish them a relaxing and well-deserved holiday season until St. Patricks Day. I'll be back then.

Johana Schwartz
Minneapolis, MN USA 11/01/2005

For this week's mix, I asked a few (OK, more than a few) folks to recommend one song to the wise, beautiful, and faithful Walsh Filers out there and say why they dig what they're digging. The playlist:

1. Mike Doughty: "Over My Head," The Fray. "Yeah, it's a super-WB-teen-drama vibe, but it's so beautiful, and the phrasing of the vocals is so slippery and wonderful. It makes my face contort in mock weeping! Seriously, it does."

2. Ana Voog: "Hide and Seek," Imogen Heap. "Simply because it is breathtakingly beautiful and makes my heart achingly swirl."

3. Craig Finn: "One Great City!," The Weakerthans. "I hate what's being done to downtown Minneapolis. That said, this is the best song (chorus: 'I hate Winnipeg') I know about, in terms of watching the charm of your beloved hometown get replaced by chain stores and overpriced condos."

4. Rosanne Cash: "Shelter from the Storm," Bob Dylan. "Ah, because we need it."

5. Ike Reilly: "Too Much," Elvis Presley. "From 1956. Can't deny anything about this guy. 'You do all the livin'/ I do all the givin.' It makes me feel pretty goddamn good."

6. Rob Rule: "Prairie Wind," Neil Young. "Here in the country, the 'prairie wind' blows through our heads daily. We're down by a river at our 'old farm house.' There's the occasional 'hanging laundry' drying in the wind, and 'late at night, lights dance in the northern sky.' The song, which clocks in at nearly eight minutes, is in no hurry. This ain't no 'hurricane' Neil's singing about, but the simple things that so many never notice or forget about. So when we're out walking through the pasture or the woods with the dogs, or jammin' guitars in our old garage, or sitting around the campfire watching the brilliant country stars, we're enjoying the moment. Just like Neil's been talking about for years. He's trying to spread a little/lotta love around."

7. John Doe: "Let It Die," Feist. "It has everything a good song should: beautiful melody, interesting chords and arrangement and, most of all, smart, heart-wrenching lyrics. The fact that her voice comes from a beautiful secret place only amplifies the song's pedigree. A classic."

8. Peter Zaremba: "Wild Weekend," The Rockin' Rebels. "As always, because it expresses the unexpressable, which only the best rock and roll music can."

9. Wendy Lewis: "Hallelujah" (by Leonard Cohen), sung by Jeff Buckley. "Because politics begins within us. No more covering and running and faking it. Love (the Big Love) is painful. Love is about surrender to ourselves and to each other. Love is about falling and breaking and falling and continuing to fall until we break open. Everything that is going on in our country right now is about grabbing and resisting and completely kidding ourselves. If we can't get it right in our own lives, we can't get it right on the grand scale."

10. Bob Mould: "Publish My Love," Rogue Wave. "The melodies, tension, and subtle shifting of chord pattern builds to a logical conclusion. I'm not certain of the line in the bridge, but I believe the words are 'win me, but don't beat me.' Doesn't get much clearer than that."

11. Robert Skoro: "The Purple Bottle," Animal Collective. "A bit of a bandwagon choice, perhaps (though full disclosure would require that I let you know that I did almost choose Kanye's "Golddigger," which my girlfriend will not stop playing!), but it does seem that ultimately what makes a song truly amazing is not only the song itself but the social context in which it's released and consumed. In this case, nothing could perpetuate the feeling of summer (and keep the good ol' SAD at bay) like riding my bike with this song in my cans. Throw in a couple hits of blotter, and you'll be watching the coming snow melt off you, both literally and figuratively..."

12. David Beckey: "Wear Your Love Like Heaven," Donovan. "In my estimation, Donno is the godfather of the current 'weird folk' movement (Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom, etc.). I remember listening to 'Jennifer Juniper' when I was about five years old with my mother and my sister, who was named Jennifer. I met Donovan when he played at Let It Be Records in March of 1997, it was a great experience and he was very nice, I was so nervous I could barely speak. It's no wonder why Dylan was so ruffled by him in the Don't Look Back movie!"

13. Dan Wilson: "West End Blues," Louis Armstrong and His Hot Five. "Here's a song so moving and so peaceful and joyful it's like a moment of pure justice. By an artist who suffered the most disgusting forms of racial hatred and discrimination, and who somehow managed to hang onto his humor and love and outrage at the same time. We're living in a society more and more isolated, in age, in ethnicity, in beliefs: how many people do you know who are not from your corner of the demographic map? Not many? Me neither. But this song from 80 years ago is like hearing your great grandfather and his friends dream out loud. I can't quite explain why, but when the various instruments (and Armstrong's scat-singing voice) take their turns, it's like a loving caricature of our immigrant history; each group arriving to restate the theme, wrapped up by the mighty trumpet tone that no one has yet matched. There are later live recordings of 'West End Blues,' but get the original, three-minutes-and-16-seconds version."

14. Roddy Woomble: "Rama Lama," Sons and Daughters. "From their album The Repulsion Box. It's as dark as they come. A kitchen-sink murder ballad from the Glasgow tenements. Scary, brilliant stuff."

15. Ambrosia Parsley: "Love's In Need of Love Today," Stevie Wonder. "Because they've made it so easy to be bitter and hateful and that's a war we really can't afford to lose."

16. Tim O'Reagan: "Both Sides Now," Joni Mitchell. "The new one from... 2000? I just heard it. How often does a reworking of a classic pop song have as much power as the original, and by the originator at that? To put so much into a song that she must have performed countless times over the years, making it a whole new creation is a stunning feat to me. The emotion and experience in her performance is gripping, and her voice is as fascinating now as it was in the 1969 version, if not more so. I was moved in a way I imagine some people would be with a painting or a sculpture. It was a great song in the '60s and she's made it a great song for a second time."

17. Wes Statler: "Circle Square Triangle," Test Icicles. "Despite the fact that this band would receive two red checkmarks on my 'Bad Band Qualities' tally sheet, this song from the super neon UK trio is completely infectious.

"The first mark against them would be their preposterously unfortunate name. I used to, especially since I was in high school and doing otherwise was the norm, try my hardest to avoid picking band names that would come off as jokey, immature, or ridiculous (i.e. The Sign-Up Sausage ��" which is, phonetically, Jesus' Penis backwards.) Surprisingly ��" and I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't expecting some sort of farting noise or slide whistle ��" there is nothing comical about the number. The horrifying dance pummeling I received from a solid four-on-the-floor and the song's Duran Duran hooks (disguised/beefed up by white belts and Cyclops haircuts) make "Circle Square Triangle" undeniably rad.

"The aforementioned fashion accessories and hairdos were the second red mark on their report card, since I am generally not a fan of anything that could be easily classified as Screamo. However, Dev Metal, Sam E Danger, and Rory Aggwelt (all of which, I'm assuming, are given names) carefully distill the best elements from the genre and blend them into a dance-friendly cocktail (think Blood Brothers throat-shredding and Zarathustra howls with Cure melodies and Gang of Four guitar riffs.) At the end of the day, I think the teacher would pass them."

18. Jeaneen Gauthier: "Shopping," The Jam. "A subtle Muzak-y slam on the superficial world of shop windows and sales and all the stuff there is to buy (or steal). It came to mind tonight after I saw a commercial for a new brand of chocolates designed by our local Stupid Superstore. Chocolates in cloaked, garish, trendy packaging designed to appeal to Mall of America hipsters. Chocolates that are supposed to have 'moxie.' Chocolates whose very product-positioning gives me a stomachache. I'd rather have a Cadbury bar and groove to Paul Weller singing about how 'it's not like the adverts all make out.' (And thank my lucky stars that I don't work in an advertising agency.)"

19. Tom Hazelmyer: "Stabbed by an Angel," Heroine Sheiks. "From the Out Of Aferica LP. The unhinged genius behind the Cows, Shannon Selberg, has been cranking away out in NYC with his post-Cows combo The Heroine Sheiks. Once again creating sounds the younger generations seem incapable of. Truly twisted, ballsy, and upsetting all while wearing a wry smile. A punch in the face that mysteriously has you wanting the act repeated over and over. While the current wave of introspection and belly-button pondering singer/songwriter pap repeatedly crests, it's so refreshing hearing something simultaneously that is threatening and catchy without having both feet planted in the past, and still takes chances with new sounds/approaches. Big, burly, mean, and smart. This song (and LP) will remind you that those are not mutually exclusive traits."

20. Pete Hofmann: "Your Uniform," Pete Hofmann. "It's mine and I am running the risk of ruining the request through an act of self-promotion, but I really feel that more people should hear my music."

21. Billy Bragg: "We Laughed," Rosetta Life featuring Billy Bragg. "'We Laughed' is the product of a series of songwriting workshops that I conducted at the Trimar Hospice in Weymouth during February, 2005. I was invited to take part in the project by Rosetta Life, a charity dedicated to helping those facing terminal illness to share their experiences through the medium of art, poetry, film or song.

"Every Friday morning for six weeks, I worked with half a dozen women who came to the hospice for palliative care as they fought against the effects of breast cancer. After a couple of weeks of talking about the process of songwriting and a few singalongs, the ‘Friday Girls' began opening up to the idea of writing a song. Maxine Edgington had the clearest idea of what she wanted to do. In our first one-on-one session, she pulled a framed picture out of her bag and said ‘Look, I've been given six months to live. I don't want to mess about. I want to write the song of this picture.'

"When her condition was diagnosed in November 2004, Maxine's thoughts turned immediately to how she would be remembered, particularly by her 15-year-old daughter, Jessica. Determined that Jess should have positive memories of her after the grieving was over, Maxine commissioned a professional photo shoot which produced beautiful images of mother and daughter smiling together, looking as if they had not a care in the world.

"This was how she wanted to be remembered. As Maxine says, ‘Cancer is terrible, but at least it gives you the chance to put things right with those you love.' One of these photos, which can be seen on the cover of this CD, was to be the inspiration for Maxine's song.

"Over the following weeks, she wrote reams of words, pouring her feelings out onto the page. My job was to take the words that best expressed the sentiments in the photograph and shape them into a song. I provided the melody, but the words are Maxine's alone. She called the song ‘We Laughed'

"In June, I got together with some local musicians and we recorded this CD. The additional tracks feature lyrics written by two of the ‘Friday Girls', Lisa Payne and Veronica Barfoot. That there is not a shred of self-pity or morbidity in any of these songs is a testament to the spirit of these three women. I found the experience of collaborating with them to be inspirational. You can find out more about how Maxine and I wrote the song, including short film clips of us talking about the process, at www.rosettalife.org Both Rosetta Life and the Trimar Hospice will benefit from the sales of this CD."

22. Julianna Raye: "Peach Trees," Rufus Wainwright. "I love the dreamlike quality of it and the groove and because I'm singing it every night on the tour and the harmonies are KICK ASS!!!"

23. Darren Jackson: "Hide and Seek," Imogen Heap. "Withstanding a very minimal keyboard part this song is acapella, however it differs from traditional vocal-only tunes in its combination of uneffected vocals and those processed with a vocoder. The song details the final moments of a romantic relationship and what's most effective here is the transition from the bridge to the outro. The bridge recounts the status quo break-up language used to end relationships. Phrases like, 'It's all for the best' and 'It's just what we need' are sung with all the conviction and assuredness that a lover must muster when they are breaking their former partner's heart. While the outro, the quietest and most intimate part of the song, finally gives voice to the unspoken and seemingly insignificant commentary of the vanquished lover on the antagonist's empty phrases. '

Speak no feeling, I don't believe you/You don't care a bit, you don't care
a, you don't care a bit.' The song is a vivid picture of 'the break-up'
painted by the broken-hearted."

24. Joe Henry: "Freedom for the Stallion," Allen Touissaint. "It's a rare political statement from Allen, who typically shies away from such as a writer; but it's political in the broadest sense--thus it has aged much better than a song that is purely... topical. It's a song that demands dignity, and a song that calls out America for enslaving people (yesterday and today, and in every sense of the word) while at the same time advertising liberty to the world. It's chilling and uplifting and all-too relevant at the moment, and i can't stop listening to it.

"I've even performed it recently at a hurricane benefit concert in Los Angeles, because I could think of nothing else that so aptly articulates an idea that I believe needs to be heard anew.

''As a singer, I've always shied away from such direct statements myself; but these are hard times for lovers. And as I've said, Allen delivers his message in a way that still has fierce beauty at its core. It's a song that demands love, and returns it.

"Allen wrote 'Freedom' for Lee Dorsey to sing, and Lee's is a fine version; but I prefer Allen's own live version, found at the end of The Complete Warner Recordings of Allen Toussaint, issued by Rhino. Allen doesn't think a lot of himself as a singer, but the voice he gives to this song is that of pure truth."

25. Alicia Corbett : "Strange Fruit," Billie Holiday. "I have volunteered to go to New Orleans and help out for a week in the 9th ward; things are still very bad there. They continue to find bodies daily and the sadness breaks my heart. I was thinking of this song and Billie Holiday, and just the South in general, their lives now and then, being poor and black, the disadvantages, the realities of how they were passed over during the hurricane."

26. Mick Sterling: "What Can I Do For You?," Bob Dylan. "The vocal and the harmonica solo on that song always kills me. Whether or not you were with Dylan on his brief Christian music moments, that song is powerful. 'What can I do for you?,' instead of 'What can you do for me?' It's a refreshing message these days."

27. Danny Murphy: "In The Ghetto," Elvis Presley. I was just in Memphis last week for a couple days and this is Mac Davis' best-written song; it whoops up on both 'Baby Don't Get Hooked On Me' and 'I Believe In Music,' and my Elvis Presley toenail clippers I got at Graceland in about 1988 just got taken on a recent flight as contraband. So in honor of the king, I will go there."

28. Ed Ackerson: "Fifth Dimension," The Byrds. My esteem for the mid-'60s records by The Byrds is boundless and hasn't diminished a bit through all the zigs and zags my life has taken. There is something elemental about the band's mission, a purity of influence matched with a questing, wide-eyed impulse to experiment. Better than almost any other band they drew a straight line from traditional forms of American music into the uncharted, exciting possibilities of a rapidly mutating future. Their work was revolutionary in a gentle and nuanced way, and I think that's why I still get so much out of it now.

"'Fifth Dimension' on cursory listen sounds like a, 'Wow, man, I just got turned on!' type of song. It's so much deeper than that, though. Building from a plainsong structure that could have been composed in 18th century Scotland or 19th century Appalachia, McGuinn wrote a lyric that perfectly describes the ecstasy and apprehension accompanying the realization that you've caught a first glimpse of a horizon beyond the trees of your own personal forest. It's a lyric about the transcendence of 'self,' a focus-pull out of the daily grind into the experience of the day itself. It's a description of a moment when the background noise of culture and convention recedes and the soft, pure sound of the universe itself rings around you.

"Don't worry, I'm not a hippie. But at several important transitional moments in my life, moments when the floor I appeared to be standing on turned out to be vapor, the deceptively simple words of this song came to me. These times of contextual freefall can be harrowing but also extremely beautiful. 'Fifth Dimension' describes those indescribable moments when you realize that life is much bigger and richer than it seems when you're just sleepwalking though it."

29. Craig Wright: "Hoppipolla," Sigur Ros. "It's gorgeous and sad and, as long as you don't speak elf-talk, it has no strict meaning. I'm suspicious right now of the power of words to transmit meaning. If you want to get your team all riled up to kill the other team, then words are great. You can get people frothing at the mouth with well-chosen words, whether you're George Bush, move-on.org, a rabbi, a minister, or a corporate president. If you want to simply speak, they're not much help right now. So why, you might ask, choose a song with a human voice at all? Why not choose something instrumental? Well, that's not the point. The point is to hear a human sound for three minutes that is not a battle cry."

30. Adam Levy: "Neighborhood # 1 (Tunnels)," The Arcade Fire. "Something about fall for me being a period of closure for a year. The Arcade Fire's Funeral is hitting home right now. It's a great sounding album about dealing with death from different perspectives. Not dark, though, just evocative. I love the ramp-up of emotion in the vocals; each verse sounds like he's really working himself into a crying frenzy. None of this Robert Smith schmaltz--sounds for real to me. The chord movement and melody are mood-altering and capture that same intensity."

31. Paul Metzger: "Beau Soir," Claude Debussy sung by Maggie Teyte. "Because it is a truly beautiful performance and the last line of the lyric is stunning: 'For we pass away, as the wave passes: The wave to the sea, we to the grave.'"

32. Chuck Prophet: "Nearer To You," Betty Harris. "From the aptly titled collection Soul Perfection. Or was it, Soul Imperfection? Greasy and Funky? You bet. Dramatic, too. Betty Harris sang with unbridled desire--she ate the mic and chewed right through the tape with her white hot yearning. She sang like she had a capo around her throat, milking just a few words, wringing 'em out--as if she doesn't need words at all. Betty feeds you and leaves you hungry for more. And with the Meters backing her up, (particularly Leo Nocentelli playing the bent guitar fills around her pleas for love), those singles she cut in the 60's with Bert Berns and later with Alan Toussaint were pure unrequited, untamed, longing at it's best. It doesn't get any more heart-wrenching than "Nearer to You." Like a mystery I could never solve--I'll just have to keep listening."

33. Zachary Johns: "I Don't Wanna Go Out Tonite," Li'l Cap'n Travis. "From their album Lonesome and Losin'. Psychedelic pedal steel guitar, lazy, out-of-tune harmonies, a harmonica solo, a loud country and western back beat, and lyrics like, 'I don't wanna go out tonight, it always just turns out the same, I go out and get drunk and in a fight with some punk with a wallet chain,' and, 'I don't wanna go out tonight, nothin' out there that I need ta see, don't need to spend money pickin' up some other honey to be mean to me.' Now I ask you... Did they read my diary?"

34. John Hermanson: "Here Come the Police," Vicious Vicious. "Yeah, the mastermind behind it is also in my band, and happens to be a good friend, but I have to be honest and say that I've not heard a song jam that hard in a long time. It radiates a rebelliousness that brings me back to raging high school keggers. In a way, it's a guilty pleasure because it's not a multi-layered introspective lyrical masterpiece (like I'm often drawn to)--I don't get something new out of every listen. But what I do get is a great beat, inspiring performances, and a joyous reckless abandon. Sometimes that's all I'm looking for in a song."

35. Mason Jennings: "Swansea," Joanna Newsom. "A song/CD so simultaneously heartfelt, unique, clear, balanced, ancient, simple, complex, visionary, scary, hopeful and supremely crafted that it renewed my faith in a higher power (as well as our current state of music) in one afternoon. Thank you, thank you, thank you Joanna for letting this music come through you and for sharing it with the world."

36. George McKelvey: "All Blues," Miles Davis. "Good for at least one focused listen every season, but especially fall. Bill Evans' piano in the intro always reminds me of falling leaves, creating the setting for Miles' major third to rise like hope above the melancholy - a ray of afternoon sun on a blustery November day. If there's better music, I haven't heard it."