Happy Belated to Me

In my adult life I have generally not bothered to celebrate my birthday. I've only thrown parties twice, never tell anyone in advance and in recent years have taken to removing my birth date from all of my social networks when it approaches. When I turned 23 I left town.

This year, however, I decided to throw a little something together. That little something ended up growing into a four-day extravaganza that spanned three boroughs and highlighted some of the truly great things that make living in New York meaningful.

New Legislation Would Be a Few More Nails in Radio's Coffin

NPR recently reported that President Obama supports legislation that would charge AM and FM radio stations royalties to labels and artists, presumably in place of terrestrial radio paying ASCAP fees.

On the surface this seems like a pretty innocuous move - supported by struggling artists like Tony Bennett, Cheryl Crow and "Money is a drug and MCs are on it" will.i.am - but really it looks to me like just another way the majors are trying to exert control over the musical marketplace and squeeze the last few cents out of their business model before it shrivels up and dies. The royalty rate hikes in 2007 nearly crippled Internet radio and this system would do the same to terrestrial indie stations.

Radio stations that play anything other than Top 40, classic rock or country tend to be locally owned businesses that aren't exactly raking in the cash. New fees on top of operating expenses and the tightening ad budgets of this economy will force most of these stations to run in the red or go under. Sure Crow and the Black Eyed Peas love this move. Their music gets played on Clear Channel stations all over the country, and with these kinds of laws Clear Channel will be one of the few companies able to pay the increased royalties.

But what kind of landscape does this leave us with? The same six songs on every channel played on loop every hour?

Artists deserve to get paid for their work. This is a fact. But moves like this are akin to artists poisoning the well that they drink from. How many small bands thrive on airplay? How often are record sales driven by a first listen on the radio or on a Web site? When up-and-coming bands would kill for the kind of listenership a medium-sized radio station - even in 2010 - commands, how does it make sense to claim that the radio stations are the only ones benefiting?

Musicians and radio stations - both online and terrestrial - should have a symbiotic relationship. When one thrives, both thrive. By increasing royalty fees on what is in essence radio stations advertising their product, the major labels - who not even ten years ago were found guilty of paying stations in exchange for increased radio airplay - are killing an essential source of musical distribution.

Is this the brave new world the online frontier promised young musicians? Not too long ago writers were tripping over themselves to declare the playing field level since now any artist with a guitar and a Myspace account could be discovered and make it big. Now OKGo, a band made famous by YouTube, isn't even allowed to embed their own music videos on their own Web site.

Make no mistake. The major labels would prefer it if customers bought music based on nothing but traditional advertising campaigns and album art. No advanced listens, no peer reviews, no refunds, no returns.

I Didn't Really Sound Like That, Did I?

Every year I sadomasochistically go back and review my old Livejournal entries from roughly 2001-2004. Generally it's pretty jarring to see such drastic swings between elation and depression, such poor writing (including things that I HATE these days like WRITING IN ALL CAPS and shortening yr words 4 no reason) and such comical taste in music.

Reflecting on the recurring themes, however - freaking out about love, freaking out about the future, freaking out about a lack of self-confidence - I realized that while my expression and perspective on these things may have changed my concern about them really hasn't. I still worry, on and off, about each of those things and while I'm less likely to spout off like a whiny five year-old about them I'm just as likely to spend far too much time thinking about them. Behind the horrific teenage poetry lies a person that is not far removed from myself.

I've grown past a lot of the frustration and angst surrounding the failings of my personality but, in large part, I have not actually grown past the failings themselves.

While those past entries are certainly embarrassing to the point that I hope nobody ever reads them again they're a pretty useful tool for self-examination. Looking back at 19-21 year old me I see that his fears are my fears and his hopes are my hopes. His dependence on his friends for identity is mine as well and I have to say we're both lucky to have such good friends to depend on. Some of the comments left for past-me were fairly prophetic - including my eventual move to New York.

While I'll never be using the rudimentary show reviews as clips they present a picture of where I was and how far I've come, both in taste and in writing.

I don't miss most of the days described in those entries, but I can't fault the passion that kid felt for something, anything to change. As cringe-inducing as some of the entries were, some others brought an aw-shucks smile to my face.

My last real day in Davis and Marge's goodbye comment. The first OSU snow day in 30 years. The Warped Tour where Mike first ran into Kate (and later Gewl). My 21st birthday. Kathleen and Edith asking me to run for office in PSA. The night Myk and Ryan first met. Mitch and Tasha's wedding.

All the sweet moments where a lost kid seemed to be found, however fleeting. Cheers to those, and more like them to come.

Current mood: pensive
Current music: the sound of silence

Shhh, Don't Tell Anyone

I've lived in New York for three and a half years now, two of those years spent in the still heavily Italian Williamsburg. Over the past ~38 months I've had plenty of opportunities to fall in love with the thin New York slice of pizza and believe me I've fallen hard. From the overflowing behemoth slices at Anna Maria's to a simple, clean cheese slice from Stromboli's I have no shortage of wonderful pizzerias to frequent.

Thus, it's to my unending shame that I admit: I eat a lot of Papa John's pizza. In the corner of my kitchen stands a tower of boxes from that bastion of Midwestern chain pizza and if it weren't for my penchant for recycling that tower would be four times as tall. In Ohio I ate Papa John's now and again and always thought it was a pleasant pie, though hardly my favorite. In New York it's still hardly my favorite but there's no pizza that I've eaten - here, in one of the best pizza cities in the country - more than good old PJ's.

It all started when Papa John's took a dominant place in my hang-over food rotation. Meatball subs gave way to General Tso's Chicken gave way to pepperoni pizza. The crust and cheese aren't bland but are generally inoffensive and the sauce and pepperoni add nice savory flavor the compliments the large amount of that hangover panacea: grease.

Eventually, though, the Papa followed me from hung-over haze to stone-cold sobriety. Perhaps it was the online ordering system allowing me to put an order on credit without talking to a real person. Perhaps it was the slew of cheap coupon deals Papa John's continually pumps out. Perhaps they put crack in the sauce. Whatever the reason, whatever the method John snuck his pizza into my psyche with no signs of letting go.

YouTube Tuesday: PS22

This New York Public School has become an Internet sensation. There really is nothing like a children's chorus rendition of a pop song to tug at the heartstrings and the way these kids throw themselves into these songs with such earnestness is quite moving.

I first heard their sweet tones in their cover of Phoenix's Lisztomania which provides a more sweeping and grand take than the high energy original. The looks on the kids' faces as they sing is transformative. Watching their slick moves during Lady Gaga's Just Dance never fails to bring a smile to my face and watching this grainy rendition of Aretha Franklin's Respect always drops my jaw.

Picking a favorite of them all isn't easy, but in the end it comes down to two:





Part of the popularity of these videos is probably due to the novelty of watching children sing these radio songs. But on top of that these young performers add a sense of wonder and innocence to everything they sing. There's an inspired and inspiring purity in these arrangements that's infinitely compelling.

Hat's off to the PS22 chorus and to their amazing choir leader for tapping something magical in these kids and for sharing it with all of us.

Check out the chorus' YouTube channel for more videos.

With Congratulations MGMT Makes Strides in Distribution of Music, If Not in Music Itself

These days whenever an album leaks it's usually amid concerns of an impending lawsuit from the RIAA or a DMCA take-down notice. The modern (major label) music industry hasn't been all that accepting of new media in recent years, evidenced by EMI curtailing the distribution of music videos online or the label's repeated litigation against Dangermouse. It comes as a pleasant surprise, then, that when MGMT - signed to Columbia/Sony - found out the new album leaked the band decided to stream the entire thing.



The statement on the Web site reads:

Hey everybody, the album leaked, and we wanted you to be able to hear it from us. We wanted to offer it as a free download but that didn't make sense to anyone but us.

While it may not be surprising that a young band "gets" internet distribution of music, this represents quite a step forward at the very least. The phrase "that didn't make sense to anyone but us" implies that the band actually took this idea to its label and that the label agreed, at least to the idea of the free stream. For a major to agree to free streaming of an album before the official release date is a very promising baby step towards a realization of how promising online channels can be.

Radiohead and NIN had to release their albums on their own to experiment with online marketing and though indie labels have been testing these waters for years the majors haven't shown very many signs of budging. With EMI, one of the slowest to adapt to the new digital marketplace, mortgaging its back catalog its about time the other labels looked to harness the internet's potential instead of trying to close Pandora's Box.

The album itself is mostly unremarkable. Most of the tracks are mid-tempo and aimless, without any real energy or drive. The majority of the album plays like really good background music that sounds nice but doesn't have much behind its pleasant, shiny exterior. The two exceptions are fourth track - and album standout - "Flash Delirium" and the record's finishing title track. The former begins with quite a hip electronic intro before kicking into the dance-friendly hard beats that made the band famous. The song has the heartfelt exuberance that made "Kids" one of the best songs of 2007. "Congratulations" backs off from the aloof affect that possesses much of the rest of the record. The warm acoustic guitar is soft and inviting and the spare arrangements of the track provide a touching end to an album that otherwise keeps the listener at arms length.

Though the end product may not have been stellar, Congratulations represents a brighter future for the music industry. If the Big Four (soon to be Big Three?) can build on this they might just survive this new millennium after all.

On the Way Home This Car Hears My Confessions

Since moving to New York I've found a lot of favorite things about the city. Free museum nights, free summer concerts, 4am bars and a pervading sense that a person is only as old as they let themselves feel. Near the top of the list is the erratic, nerve-wracking, frustrating, convenient and indispensable New York public transportation system.

For $2.25 I can travel from Coney Island to the Bronx Zoo; from the Hudson River to the Atlantic Ocean. On any given Friday night I can see one of the best modern art collections in the world at MoMA in Manhattan, catch an outdoor show at the Prospect Park bandshell in Park Slope, crawl into one of my favorite dive bars in Williamsburg, and be in bed without having to worry about traffic, falling asleep at the wheel or a DUI. I don't have to be alert during my morning commute and can begin to veg-out during my evening commute. Hydroplaning, warming an engine, defrosting and scraping a windshield and black ice are issues my past self had to deal with but that my current self can blithely ignore.

For all of the construction, delays and hours spent waiting for infrequent late-night trains the subway is undoubtedly my lifeline to New York City without which I'd probably spend most non-work hours holed up in my apartment playing video games and drinking whiskey (which isn't to say I don't sometimes do that anyway.)

As a child of the midwest, however, that grew up with wide streets allowing cars to drive at or over the speed limit (except in Lynndale!) in a city sprawled out enough to warrant a long drive just to get to a friend's house I can't deny there is a certain experience that only private transportation can confer.

I look back through rose-colored glasses and remember a certain serenity in my morning and evening commutes. The individualism that existed on even the most packed freeways as people traveled en masse, but were still encapsulated in their own little four- and two-doored worlds. I remember driving through a sleeping city surrendering its roads to me and my compatriots coming back from late-night jobs, shows and poker games. I remember the freeway between cities at midday, the sun hitting fields for miles around with only road ahead and behind. I remember road trips to Indiana, Illinois, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin with friends packing into cars packing into caravans four or five deep with only one of us in the whole group really knowing the way.

Above all else I remember the music.