Now, buying something on iTunes isn’t really a guilty pleasure. Even if I considered it one (and I’m sure it is for some), that would be a whole other article all together.

I bought Ellie Goulding‘s Lights on iTunes for eight bucks because I love the record, and frankly, I don’t care who knows it.

Yes, it’s public, right there on my Ping account. But, hey, who the hell uses Ping? I have literally one real-life friend on Ping; virtually everyone else I’ve friended on the iTunes social network is in other bands. However, my Ping is connected to my Twitter account so… yes… people not only know that I am an owner of “Lights” but also that I loooove it. I have some friends on Twitter, but it’s mostly work-related stuff. So I saved a little face, right?

But wait, the individual plays of Ellie Goulding also show up on my last.fm profile, on which I have many of my closest friends who I DO know personally. I have over 150 plays (and counting) of the same 11 Ellie Goulding songs in the last seven days alone.

It’s entirely possible, in perusing music blogs or various indie/electronica mixtapes, you’ve heard either “Starry Eyed” (or, on dubstep mixes, its wonderful dubstep remix by Jakwob) or “Lights” by Goulding, a young, budding artist who had a purely girl-and-a-guitar approach while studying drama at the University of Kent before she met, among others, U.K. dance producer Starsmith, with whom she’s collaborated for most of her young career.

Goulding’s profile significantly increased last year in the U.K. mainstream press with her Critic’s Choice win at the 2010 BRIT Awards and in the indie press with her opening spot on Passion Pit’s U.K. tour. That pairing is an appropriate comparison to make, music-wise, as both of their sounds pull enthusiastically from the same kind of rock-based, disco cheese.

Where Passion Pit has a Catholic choir-boy/gear-head approach to their well-produced work, Goulding takes the pop-star, dramatic vessel approach to her music, writing or co-writing songs and letting trusted collaborators handle the production work.

Of course, it’s hard to avoid the distinctly British influences Goulding pulls from: Kate Bush (what young British woman isn’t influenced by her?), Elton John (she covers “Your Song” on Lights, her debut) and the Australian Kylie Minogue, whose influence I can’t help but hear in her music because… yes… I’m also a big fan of Minogue’s as well.

It’s interesting how slick dance music of all kinds has been slowly but surely being accepted into American indie circles. On our shores, DFA Records certainly deserves a good bit of credit for this, but Nordic imports such as Annie and Robyn and British imports like Goulding certainly have done their part.

Of course, the blonde, sweet-faced Goulding is more Annie than she is Robyn, and not just in looks: wholesome, with clean sounds and unobtrusive keyboards and drum sounds. More than either, Goulding is distinctly feminine without being overly delicate.

So I’m out of the closest: a full-on convert to girlie, British dance pop. How to explain this uncharacteristic spike of music listening to my closest friends? Well…

“Uh… yeah… I was just DJ’ing a party for sorority girls and these chicks kept requesting Ellie Goulding on repeat. For the whole party. I know, it was totally weird. Can’t believe I left my scrobbler on.”

“I was just doing review listens and I left the record on repeat, dude.”

“I’ve decided to come out of the closet… that I love to daaaaaaance!!”

‘These things that give us pleasure, they are guilty of nothing. And neither are we.’

But fuck it, right? You like what you like. I don’t really buy into the idea of “guilty pleasures.” Which is why I’m writing this piece, not as an assignment but as a protest. What’s wrong with liking something that may not have depth, societal relevance, substance, or artistic merit?

I’m not a rockist, I’m a music lover. I’m also on the wrong side of my 20s. If I’m not over the adolescent affectation of being self-conscious about what I like by now, then something’s wrong with me. Sure, the High Fidelity mindset was fine for me at 19, but it’s time to move on.

I suppose I have Chuck Klosterman, a music writer whom I still idolize (albeit reluctantly) and who made me want to become a music writer, to thank for guiding me to where my outlook is now on “guilty pleasures.” Klosterman said the following in his Esquire column in November 2004:

“People who use this term are usually talking about why they like Joan of Arcadia, or the music of Nelly, or Patrick Swayze’s Road House,” Klosterman writes. “This troubles me for two reasons: Labeling things like Patrick Swayze movies a guilty pleasure implies that a) people should feel bad for liking things they sincerely enjoy, and b) if these same people were not somehow coerced into watching Road House every time it’s on TBS, they’d probably be reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Both of these assumptions are wrong.”

It’s assumption A that really gets to me. Why should anyone feel bad about something they genuinely like? What an awful way to feel. I genuinely feel bad for anyone that thinks this way about music. I’m tempted to tear down this way of thinking because, like Klosterman wrote, it’s wrong. But more compelling is the sadness and empathy I feel.

“I think it was Voltaire (possibly) who once argued that every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do, and I suppose he had a point,” Klosterman continues. “If I spent as much time analyzing Al-Qaeda as I’ve spent deconstructing Toby Keith’s video for ‘Whiskey Girl,’ we probably would have won the war on terror last April. However, this is nothing to celebrate or bemoan; it’s kind of my own fault, and it’s kind of no one’s fault. These things that give us pleasure, they are guilty of nothing. And neither are we.”

Rewinding to 2005, when Everything in Transit was finished and about to be released, something else, something devastating and unexpected was released as well: The news that McMahon had been diagnosed with leukemia. Worried and bewildered, myself and other fans digested the news. Naturally, I couldn’t help but wonder how the album release would be affected. Fortunately for us fans, the album released as planned, even as McMahon was bed-ridden and undergoing chemotherapy.

I went out to the store and bought the album as soon as I could. I couldn’t even wait to open it, so I unwrapped it eagerly and put it in the CD player of my car. What struck me the moment his voice came through my speakers was the fact that the first lyric of the entire album is: “She thinks I’m much too thin/She asks me if I’m sick.” It still strikes me as eerie to this day when I listen to Everything in Transit. Throughout the album, McMahon’s lyrics revolve around being sick, being in hospitals, and committing to medication. It’s as if the album he was writing predetermined his sickness before the doctors ever could. For example, in the song “La La Lie”, one of my personal favorites, McMahon sings “I’m far too unstable to settle/I doubt that the doctors are wrong.” Then, in “Rescued”, he sings, “I’m finally numb, so please don’t get me rescued…/And it’s unclear, but I think this may be my last song.” Finally, in the album’s last song, “Made for Each Other/You Can Breathe”, he shouts, “Someone get this man to a hospital.” One of the reasons this album is so precious to me is because in a way it made me feel like I was along for the ride, experiencing what McMahon was going through. Like the album’s opener, “Holiday From Real”, I was curious about his sickness and, similar to “Rescued”, I wondered if he would pull through and get, well, rescued. In fact, McMahon did get rescued. In late August of 2005, he received a stem cell transplant from his sister, Katie McMahon, which seemingly inserted life back into him.

On June 3, 2006 I saw Jack’s Mannequin in concert in Ft. Lauderdale. I remember it being one of the most anticipated days of my life. Aside from the album being so closely related to his ordeal that it was frightening, Everything in Transit also wound up being one of the most enjoyable albums I had ever listened to. Songs like “Holiday From Real”, “Bruised”, and “La La Lie” wound up being my anthems for having fun. I find few things as liberating as screaming my favorite lyrics from “Holiday From Real”, which are “Oh, it’s a picture of perfection. Ah, and the postcard’s gonna read ‘F**k yeah we can live like this.’” The show he put on in 2006 blew me away. McMahon had more energy than anybody I had ever seen on stage. Who else have I ever seen stand on his piano and play with his feet? Nobody. There was not the least bit of evidence showing his past year of battling for his life. The album takes me back to the days in high school where I spent every weekend at the beach with my friends. It reminds me that, as McMahon writes, “I’ve got friends who will help me pull through.” After that show, I stuck around the venue until about one in the morning to meet him. When he finally came out, I got what I wanted. I got to tell him that he was my hero.

So, back to the present and enough cheesiness, I defend Andrew McMahon for an array of reasons, but the main one being that he is a model of perseverance and strength for me. It astounds me that somebody who has been through such a difficult struggle still manages to be the one who wrote an album that reminds me of good times and perseverance more than any other in my collection. Sure, I’m not 15 anymore. Sure, I don’t frequently listen to Jack’s Mannequin. Yet, although Everything in Transit might collect some dust from time to time, it is the one album I reach for when I want a guaranteed smile on my face. Even though I’ve gotten older and more mature, as I would like to think, I still get ecstatic at the chance to see Jack’s Mannequin in concert (it’s been five times now). I still make sure I can get all the way up to the stage and I still scream and single along just as loudly as I used to.

After releasing the album, Jesse Lacey and company traipsed around the country with bands like Taking Back Sunday and Finch. “Jude Law and a Semester Abroad” frequented the play lists on MTV2 and Fuse. I graduated D.A.R.E. and elementary school. Needless to say, we existed in two completely different spheres: Brand New in the pop-punk, angst-ridden world of broken relationships, me in the world of Lizzie McGuire and recreational league basketball on Saturday mornings.

Then came middle school.

Middle school: the cliched years of preteen misery, drama, and awkwardness. Disgusted by our vapid middle-school mixer-attending, overly short gym-shorts wearing, dyed-blonde classmates who spent their weekends loitering at movie theaters and living at the mall, my friends and I became the counterculture. We wore Chucks and listened to Zeppelin. We scoffed at the girls who wore Hollister and Abercrombie & Fitch. We were so much more mature than our peers, even to the point that we blogged about it all daily on our Xangas.

In 8th grade, I found Brand New and fell in love. The two worlds finally collided. I invested in the back catalog, stumbled upon Your Favorite Weapon, and the world stopped turning. Jesse Lacey knew what I was going through. Jesse Lacey understood. From the first lines in “The Shower Scene” vividly and perfectly depicting the depth of young friendships (“It’s funny how your worst enemies always seem to turn out to be all of your best friend’s best friends”) to the anthem “Soco Amaretto Lime” hating the status quo and refusing to grow up (“We’ll never have to listen / to anyone about anything / cause it’s all been done and it’s all been said / we’re the coolest kids and we take what we can get”), Your Favorite Weapon was my life in album form.

The perfect blend of rapid, noisy guitars with pulsating percussion and Lacey’s signature shouting vocals made Brand New all the more lovable; I could blast “Sudden Death in Carolina” on the bus ride home on my Walkman and definitely turn some heads. It was more than that, though. The music was downright addictive. The songs were energetic, catchy, and entirely too relatable. The lyrics were completely honest, taking no tact into account when wishing ill upon those who had done wrong. “Jude Law and a Semester Abroad” and its tale of heartbreak reminded me that boys have feelings, too. “Mix Tape” was a testament to friends and love interests lost to the mainstream-  and it taught me about The Smiths.. and Morrissey. I used “Last Chance to Lose Your Keys” as an excuse to not feel lame for being home on Saturday nights watching movies instead of going out.

Brand New was nothing original. Its stereotypical pop punk instrumentation and heart-on-its-sleeve cliched lyrics were nothing special.  My friends and I knew that and did not care. As much as we tried, we were nothing original either. Your Favorite Weapon epitomized adolescence in the suburbs, a time full of angst and inner-turmoil when there are, in reality, no real problems. The album’s immaturity is what made it so attractive. Looking at it now, its simplicity and angst are almost comical.

The aforementioned angst and inner-turmoil slowly faded as I progressed through high school. I figured out who I was and ended up with my arsenal of indie’s finest filling up my iTunes. Brand New, Circa Survive, Thrice, mewithoutYou, and all of the other bands that made the early teens bearable were replaced by Stars, Beulah, and Arcade Fire, save Your Favorite Weapon, of course.

I loved Brand New for years and still consider The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me one of the best albums released in recent memory. It stung when I saw the band play on that tour and completely neglect Your Favorite Weapon, totally abandoning their roots. I vowed then that that was an offense I would never commit. Those twelve songs and just over forty minutes of undeniable greatness are a part of my past I will not let go. I finally turned 19, so I can’t exactly tout “Soco Amaretto Lime” with “I’m gonna stay 18 forever” as my life anthem anymore, but Your Favorite Weapon will always be a fun, nostalgic listen and a mainstay in my library.

So how did a stubborn punk/metal fan first find herself surrendering to the crime of this Kylie love? Well, it took a trip of a lifetime to do it.

The year was 2000, and I had naively decided to put my education on hold and go on a solo backpacking trip to New Zealand and Australia. I’m not sure why my parents thought a travel experience would be better education than college, but I guess they knew something at the time. Lord knows, it started a pattern of travel over responsibility that has continued to this day.

Somewhere along the way of staying in hostels, spending hours on backpacker buses, and drinking in strange bars, I began to lose some of that old self, as if I subconsciously sent her back to Canada. My eyes were opening and, more importantly, my ears were expanding. I started to really listen to the music I was hearing. Alone, out in two countries where no one knew my name, I was able to like what I wanted to like instead of what I thought I should like (an aftertaste of high school, I guess).

Surprisingly then, it was the song “Kids”, the rambunctious duet by Kylie Minogue and Robbie Williams, that made me realize it was okay to like something popular. It was fun, it was catchy, and most of all, it opened me up to the carefree Australian lifestyle. I snapped up Light Years, and it quickly became the soundtrack to my time abroad. Sure, I looked like a total doofus while dancing to Minogue’s hit single, “Spinning Around”, at the East Coast nightclubs, but it was just another lesson in not caring what people think.

When I finally left Australia six months later, I made sure to stick my copy of Light Years into my Discman (yes, Discman). But the listening didn’t stop there. At my “welcome back” party, I snuck the album into the CD changer amongst all the nu metal and grunge. At this point in time, though Light Years was a huge hit in Australia and the UK, hitting #1 and #2 on the charts respectively, it hadn’t even made a dent in North America. My friends were quite surprised, maybe even pleasantly so, to hear that this was the “Locomotion” woman from the 1980’s, and I’ll always remember one of my friends — who was known for his more rough music tastes — asking me to “put that Kylie woman back on!”

Looking back at the album now, I find it’s still as catchy and relevant as ever. Minogue had been in the music business for almost 12 years by the time the album came out, and it’s easy to see how she’s influenced many of the more talented pop stars of today. Lady Gaga could in fact be the love child of Freddie Mercury and Kylie Minogue. Minogue’s flamboyancy, if not that perfectly toned tush, has certainly been passed down. Minogue is still touring with her fabulously elaborate stage shows and has continued to be a driving force in pop music (despite her brush with breast cancer that sent her into the media spotlight in 2005 and sidelined a few projects). I even reviewed her newest album Aphrodite, which was released in July of this year and explores a lot of the dance and disco-themed songs that made Light Years such a standout.

I still don’t listen to the radio much, and I’ll admit I’m rather stubborn when it comes to the music that crowds my iPod, but Aphrodite has joined Light Years on steady rotation — guilt-free.

]]> Light Years. Having begrudgingly won a Jessica Simpson look-alike contest back in the day probably only cements the fact that I look like your average pop-tartlet. But considering my music tastes are firmly planted in the Faith No More/Queens of the Stone Age/Deftones genre and I tend to eschew anything too generic or radio-friendly, it’s no wonder that this pleasure of mine can somewhat be described as “guilty”. So how did a stubborn punk/metal fan first find herself surrendering to the crime of this Kylie love? Well, it took a trip of a lifetime to do it. The year was 2000, and I had naively decided to put my education on hold and go on a solo backpacking trip to New Zealand and Australia. I’m not sure why my parents thought a travel experience would be better education than college, but I guess they knew something at the time. Lord knows, it started a pattern of travel over responsibility that has continued to this day. Somewhere along the way of staying in hostels, spending hours on backpacker buses, and drinking in strange bars, I began to lose some of that old self, as if I subconsciously sent her back to Canada. My eyes were opening and, more importantly, my ears were expanding. I started to really listen to the music I was hearing. Alone, out in two countries where no one knew my name, I was able to like what I wanted to like instead of what I thought I should like (an aftertaste of high school, I guess). Surprisingly then, it was the song “Kids”, the rambunctious duet by Kylie Minogue and Robbie Williams, that made me realize it was okay to like something popular. It was fun, it was catchy, and most of all, it opened me up to the carefree Australian lifestyle. I snapped up Light Years, and it quickly became the soundtrack to my time abroad. Sure, I looked like a total doofus while dancing to Minogue’s hit single, “Spinning Around”, at the East Coast nightclubs, but it was just another lesson in not caring what people think. When I finally left Australia six months later, I made sure to stick my copy of Light Years into my Discman (yes, Discman). But the listening didn’t stop there. At my “welcome back” party, I snuck the album into the CD changer amongst all the nu metal and grunge. At this point in time, though Light Years was a huge hit in Australia and the UK, hitting #1 and #2 on the charts respectively, it hadn’t even made a dent in North America. My friends were quite surprised, maybe even pleasantly so, to hear that this was the “Locomotion” woman from the 1980’s, and I’ll always remember one of my friends -- who was known for his more rough music tastes -- asking me to “put that Kylie woman back on!” Looking back at the album now, I find it’s still as catchy and relevant as ever. Minogue had been in the music business for almost 12 years by the time the album came out, and it’s easy to see how she’s influenced many of the more talented pop stars of today. Lady Gaga could in fact be the love child of Freddie Mercury and Kylie Minogue. Minogue's flamboyancy, if not that perfectly toned tush, has certainly been passed down. Minogue is still touring with her fabulously elaborate stage shows and has continued to be a driving force in pop music (despite her brush with breast cancer that sent her into the media spotlight in 2005 and sidelined a few projects). I even reviewed her newest album Aphrodite, which was released in July of this year and explores a lot of the dance and disco-themed songs that made Light Years such a standout. I still don’t listen to the radio much, and I’ll admit I’m rather stubborn when it comes to the music that crowds my iPod, but Aphrodite has joined Light Years on steady rotation -- guilt-free. ]]> http://consequenceofsound.net/2010/09/guilty-pleasure-kylie-minogue-light-years/feed/ 1 http://consequenceofsound.net/2010/08/guilty-pleasure-vision-quest-original-soundtrack/ http://consequenceofsound.net/2010/08/guilty-pleasure-vision-quest-original-soundtrack/#comments http://c438342.r42.cf2.rackcdn.com//wp-content/uploads/2010/06/vision-quest.jpg Sat, 14 Aug 2010 12:00:04 +0000 Len Comaratta http://consequenceofsound.net/?p=49573 When I was reaching back to find a truly guilty pleasure, I racked my brain trying to find that perfect combination of cool, camp, and cliche. I knew that I listened to potentially embarrassing music at various stages in my life, but nothing immediately came to mind. Then while driving I heard Madonna’s “Crazy for You”. Unaware I was actually tuned in to Delilah, I continued to listen until the song ended. Of course this song is nowhere near cheese, and it is practically a classic in the rock ballad canon. However, Madonna’s second number one single in the US was also the first single from the Vision Quest soundtrack. It’s here our story begins.

Vision Quest is a 1985 coming of age story starring Matthew Modine as high school wrestler Louden Swain on his mission to beat the guy who’s never been beaten. Along the way he also happens to fall in love with the sexy, mature, 21-year-old renting a room in his house. This film was very predictable and typical of the schlock films following in the shadows of John Hughes’ teen angst success. Similar to Hughes’ films, director Harold Becker uses the soundtrack to play a role within the context of the film rather than just a commercial tie-in for marketing purposes. However, unlike Hughes’ preferred use of underground and truly alternative musicians (see Some Kind of Wonderful), the Vision Quest soundtrack is filled with big name arena rock bands and the hottest stars of the moment.

Like so many others at the time, I owned this soundtrack on cassette. Currently, it sits in the closet along with other potential guilty pleasures. This, along with the Say Anything soundtrack, accompanied me on many occasions as I drove around in my deep maroon 1978 Pontiac Grand Le Mans (complete with plush velvet-like interior). The album opens with a burner by Journey, only to crash into John Waite’s “Change”, a far slower track. But because it was on cassette, you just let it roll. There was no sense in fast forwarding to the next track because it wasn’t always convenient, and in the days before automatic advance, fast forwarding could be a crap shoot. Years before Nick Hornby wrote down the rules to making mix tapes in his novel High Fidelity, this album follows those rules with the next two tracks, coming out of Waite’s slower piece directly into the Style Council’s “Shout to the Top”, and Madonna’s “Gambler”.  It is through these tracks that the energy is elevated near that of the album’s intro. From then on the album has a pretty consistent groove…at least until the Red Rider track.

Prior to this album I had never heard of Canadian rockers Red Rider or their song “Lunatic Fringe”. Even today I don’t think of the band as much as I do the song and Tom Cochrane’s repetitive “Lunatic Fringe….I know you’re out there.” However, just thinking about the band now sparks the memory of the ridiculously over-dramatic training sequence Modine’s character performs including jumping rope in a dark gymnasium with only a single light perched above. This single pretty much marks the extent of Red Rider’s penetration into the US market. Years later, Cochrane would hit it big with his hit “Life Is a Highway”, another annoyingly infectious song.

Velveeta looms large on Don Henley’s “She’s On the Zoom”. This track is somewhat removed from, and certainly pales in comparison to, his future classic album The End of the Innocence. On the upside, it does have two GoGo’s singing backup, and could be thought of as a bridge between his single “All She Wants to Do Is Dance” from the previous year’s Building the Perfect Beast and his future efforts. Regardless, this song is probably on the list of Don Henley songs not played at concerts. Also on the list, I’m sure, is Dio’s “Hungry for Heaven”, which proved that even a dark lord in the mystic realms of metal’s dark magic was not immune to the synth-infection that plagued so many artists in the ‘80s.

Four songs were recorded for the soundtrack: Journey’s opening track along with Henley’s “She’s On the Zoom” and two Madonna singles, “Gambler” and the aforementioned “Crazy for You”. In a twist of irony, Madonna’s “Gambler” failed to make any significant mark, despite it sounding very similar to her hit “Burning Up”. The remaining songs, all previously released tracks and hits in their own right prior to their inclusion in the film, cover a wide array of styles and genres, from the dance soul pop of Paul Weller’s post-Jam The Style Council, to the synth-drenched metal of Dio, to pre-Van Hagar Sammy. Arena rock champions Foreigner provide the oldest song in the lineup with 1978’s “Hot Blooded”. Three other songs, Quarterflash’s “Harden My Heart”, REO Speedwagon’s “Time For Me to Fly”, and Berlin’s “No More Words” appear in the film yet fail to make the cut for the album.

The success of Madonna’s soulful “Crazy for You” and Journey’s anthemic “Only the Young” provided the momentum behind the soundtrack’s moderate success. Madonna’s song was so successful that many Asian markets actually re-titled the film and soundtrack to Crazy for You. I even owned the 7” single (backed with Berlin’s “No More Words”). For me, this soundtrack ranks up there with some of the best of the era. Unfortunately, the album will barely register as a rung in the ladder of Madonna’s success, and for the other artists it was probably nothing more than a paycheck.

In high school, I loved grunge and discovered punk. But I was also a huge fan of Amy Grant’s Heart In Motion, and I made sure all my friends knew this. They hated me for this, of course. But I delighted in the fact that my enjoyment of something could cause such ire in others. I would add many bands into this category over the years: EMF, Spin Doctors, Steve Winwood, etc. But for this feature, I choose… STP!

That’s right, STP. Not the punk band STP from the classic L7/Sonic Youth/Nirvana split 7″ of 1990, but the Stone Temple Pilots. Yes, the million-plus-selling, grunge-bandwagon-jumping, heroin-loving-singer-having socal douche bags that pretty much everyone in the indie rock “community” loves to hate! Well I’m very sorry nerds, because STP is the band I love to love, no apologies!

Now I’m mostly talking Core here, I’m not going to get in to the finer points of Shangri-La Dee Da because I don’t know if there are any, and frankly I don’t give a shit. Great title, though! So yeah, Core, and even more specifically, the amazing opening track “Dead and Bloated”. This is my jam! “I am smelling like a rose that somebody gave me on my birthday deathbed…” Hell yeah!  This song is loud, heavy, arrogant, and pisses off most people I know every time I play it. I don’t have a list of guilty pleasures, but if I did, pissing off my friends would be at the top.

-Hutch Harris

Hutch Harris is lead vocalist and guitarist for the Portland, OR trio, The Thermals. He is currently working on the group’s fifth studio album, Personal Life, due out for release this September.

So, I definitely don’t look the part of a metalhead. And yet – when it comes to Metallica, anyway – I am one.

Aside from my failure to look the part of a true Metallichick, you might be wondering why Metallica is my guilty pleasure. They’re not exactly Celine Dion.

Well, for starters, I’m a total girl about my fandom:

Exhibit A: I felt sad when in 2001 Cliff Burton-replacement-bassist Jason Newsted left the band, because he was cute. Also, the others were mean to him: tricking him into shooting wasabi during one of their tours, turning down the bass on …And Justice for All, and basically making him feel like a second-class citizen. That wasn’t very nice.

Exhibit B: I sincerely wish that all members, save bassist Robert Trujillo, perhaps, would come to an understanding once and for all that a receding hairline = cut that shit off. I’m not that metal. The long hair can go.

Exhibit C: If lead-singer James Hetfield decided to up and leave his wife and kids, I’d be the first in line to marry him. Either way, I’d settle for him serenading me with an acoustic version of “Fade to Black”, the way he plucked it out on camera in the A Year and a Half in the Life of Metallica documentary. Acoustic versions of Metallica songs, even those about suicide, are so romantic.

So … yeah. I suppose it’s no wonder that my guy friends from high school never asked me to accompany them to a concert, perhaps not trusting my level of devotion. After all, my high-school boyfriend listened to “One” every night before bed as a means of winding down. Songs about dying on a battlefield, they do so calm the mind.

One male friend, in fact, once summed it up nicely: there are Metallica fans who are familiar with songs such as “Trapped Under Ice,” and there are those who are not. Nowadays, it’s about 50-50. Look around at fellow concert-goers, he’ll lament, and you’ll see those who discovered Metallica only during the Black Album days.

I do know “Trapped Under Ice”, but I suppose I fall within the newbie category – hence, more grounds for classifying Metallica as my guilty pleasure. To be fair, Metallica came together in 1981 (the year I was born), and didn’t really achieve mainstream success until said Black Album’s release a decade later. So far as I can remember, my five-year-old self wasn’t really seeking out Master of Puppets, nor were videos for it airing on MTV, nor was my mom playing it on vinyl (she reserved her turntable for The Carpenters and Whitney Houston).

Now, I’m not here to get into a debate about whether or not the Black Album actually marked the dreaded point of selling out, but I’ll point out that it’s not necessarily a bad thing for someone to discover a band’s older, supposedly purer stuff as a result of being exposed to the mainstream releases.

For example, I remember seeing the “Enter Sandman” video on MTV and being entranced by James Hetfield’s strange, growling beast of a self. Who was this guy? I would have to learn more.

And so I did. Granted, I can’t really explain what it was that appealed to me so much. Lyrically, I can’t relate; not with songs about suicide, drugs, death, cancer, fucked-up religions, insane asylums, insanity in general, Biblical plagues, Saddam Hussein, death, childhood alienation, war, death, and death. But for the record, my favorite album is Master of Puppets – how disgustingly happy was I when the movie Old School featured the title track during a hazing scene? – and my favorite song is “Harvester of Sorrow,” track six on …And Justice for All. I enjoy music that kicks a little ass. I think that’s good enough.

Load and Reload … okay. “Ain’t My Bitch” is a lovely little song, as is “Fuel”. They’re no “For Whom the Bell Tolls” or “Battery”, but they’ll do.

I even felt that all of the brouhaha surrounding S&M – the live-performance album of Metallica’s pairing with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra – was completely unjustified. Finally, someone somewhere had come to the realization I’d always held: Metallica’s music is simply gorgeous. Listen to a live version of “One” – with or without the symphony, I suppose – and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

True, my interest started to waver around the time of 2003’s St. Anger, because seriously, Hetfield? I know you sobered up and made your life better on a variety of fronts, which I guess is all fine and good, but wouldn’t sobriety have made you more aware of the fact that lyrics such as “I’m madly in anger with you” would not be, and never will be, good?

Metallica somewhat redeemed themselves with 2008’s Death Magnetic, or maybe that album holds a special place in my heart because it was the album for which I finally caught a stop on its tour.

And again, there is something to be said for any band that kicks even more ass live, instead of sounding like what came out of a recording session was a happy fluke. I remember Hetfield once saying that they were a live band – started as a live band, always would be a live band.

Fuck lip-synching pop artists who charge $90 for a seat in the nosebleed section of a non-air-conditioned basketball arena, and then refuse to do an encore. (I’m thinking of you, Madonna.) You haven’t seen a live performance until you’ve seen Metallica thrashing it out on stage for three-plus hours, beads of sweat flying into the audience. Promising that there would be plenty of “old shit” to go along with the “new shit.” Sounding just as excited to play songs like “Enter Sandman” for approximately the three-billionth time. Even if, as my concert date pointed out, and not without justice, that Hetfield had morphed into something of a Brian Setzer-type, what with that cute little pompadour and all. (And were those skinny jeans we glimpsed from afar?)

No matter.

If I haven’t convinced you of Metallica’s live ass-kickery, look up the YouTube video of “Harvester of Sorrow,” live in Moscow in 1991. The skies are gray, the fingers are raised in devil’s horns, the helicopters are circling overhead, the police are kicking some overzealous concert-goers’ asses. And Hetfield.

Wait for the extended pause about two-thirds into the song. Lars Ulrich rises from his drum kit. Jason Newsted wipes his brow with the back of a forearm. And James Hetfield flares his nostrils and exhales one dragon-like breath into the microphone, before roaring, yes, roaring, “Alllllllll have said their prayers, invade their nightmares! To see into my eyes, you’ll find where murder lies …”

It’s kind of the sexiest thing you’ll ever see.

In middle school, I didn’t really know where I belonged. I could fit in with the nerds, the jocks, the “popular kids”, but I didn’t really have an identity. I played basketball, listened to radio rap (think Nelly and Petey Pablo), and I wore clothes that no one as white as myself should attempt to wear. I was trying to be something I wasn’t.

All of that changed the summer after my eighth grade year, and I can’t help but think that my music of choice was a catalyst for that change. I had heard Incubus on the radio and liked the songs I had heard. For some reason, they resonated with me more than any other rock songs at the time. In any case, I remember exactly where and when I bought Incubus‘ Morning View. I had just finished my second year at the University of Kentucky’s basketball camp. My parents came and picked me up, but before we went on the four hour drive back to Nashville, they let me go into the college bookstore and pick out a CD to listen to in the car to keep me entertained. Well, I spotted Morning View and decided to give it a try (instead of whatever the latest Trick Daddy CD was). I popped the disc in my CD player, and from that point on I knew my perception of music would never be the same.

Morning View was a revelation for me. Never before had I felt so connected with any piece of music. I was so enthralled with every twist and turn the album gave me, shifting from the loud aggression of “Blood on the Ground” to the soft disappointment of “Mexico” in the span of one song. I was right there with it, feeling every emotion that singer Brandon Boyd was expressing as if it were my own. I longed for a certain someone to be there with me during “Wish You Were Here”. I wanted to rebel against the system during “Under My Umbrella”. I knew that what came around would go around again during “Circles”. I wanted to meet the one during “Echo”. Listening to this album for the first time was a roller coaster of emotions for me, especially since I was a fragile 13 years old at the time. And even if the lyrics don’t hold up quite as well years later, it’s amazing how nostalgia can make that fact basically irrelevant.

The song styles and structures that Incubus used on this album, while not revolutionary, were certainly new and exciting to 8th-grade me, as I had basically only been exposed to typical three minute verse-chorus-verse type songs. My upbringings were not conducive to hearing music that took any type of risks (Christian hit radio was about all I was allowed to listen to until this point). A lot of the disc did have these same radio friendly structures, but when I got to the last song on the album, “Aqueous Transmission”, needless to say, my mind was just a little bit blown. I had never heard anything like it. It was the most exotic song I’d ever heard. I wasn’t used to bands using any other instruments than your standard guitar, bass, drums and keyboard. The oriental sounds were so soothing, but at the same time they excited me. Incubus uses traditional Chinese instruments very well here, creating a wonderfully relaxing closer. At over seven minutes long, this was also one of the longest songs I’d ever encountered, which just added to my enchantment. Similarly, “Are You In?” was a new experience for me. It’s such a loose and fun song, and it really makes you feel like you’re at a big party that Incubus is throwing.

Listening to Morning View was the first time I really appreciated the format of whole albums. Before that, I basically only listened to individual songs, but after going through all the ups and downs and the loud and soft points of this album, I never looked back. I always looked to replicate this feeling that came with all of these different songs being sewn together in one context to make one big experience.

I was as obsessed with Incubus as anyone can be with any band for a couple years. I collected all of their albums, got to see them live during the height of my obsession, and listened to them every single day for a long while. Eventually, they went one direction while I went another (they completely lost me with Light Grenades), but even as I branched out and discovered the likes of Radiohead, Interpol, and Sigur Rós in the year after I first discovered Incubus, I never forgot Morning View. I will forever have a connection with that album. Even as I listen to it right now, it just does something to me. It transports me to a different time when things were more simple. And after all these years, I must say that the music itself is still damn good. And coming from a music snob like me, that is no small feat.

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At age 16, somehow I had pushed my way into the band’s dressing room at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall on the unlikely pretext that I was press. They do start them young, don’t they? I don’t remember much about the content of my article. However, I do recall falling in love with Robin Williamson’s girlfriend, the delightfully named Licorice McKechnie, despite her lack of front teeth. I also recall taking polaroid pictures of the backup singer and occasional musician. I remember how nice and gentle Williamson and fellow String Bander Mike Heron were, and how I marveled that Rose Simpson (Heron’s girlfriend) played the bass guitar. Most vividly, I remember the enormity of meeting my heroes in the flesh.

Back to 1968. The ISB were probably my favorite band of the late ’60s. To me, Willamson and Heron were the epitome of experimentation, free spirit, weirdness, beauty, and truth. Their very being, though, divided my friends, as it did the country, and it was difficult to fight off the more vocal naysayers who would compare Williamson’s voice to a ferret being strangled. Such jibes were sacrilegious to me and my small bunch of fellow devotees, which made it was a great boost when the coolest guy in our grade, with the nicest girlfriend pronounced that he loved them too. Slowly, others came around to appreciate the band as well.

Originally a trio, the ISB were signed by legendary producer Jo Boyd. After seeing them at Clive’s Incredible Folk Club, a small venue in Glasgow’s famous Saucihall Street Boyd placed them on the Elektra label. The band released their seminal fourth album, Wee Tam and the Big Huge, in 1968. A double album, no less, which was far out, as was the way the lyrics appeared unconventionally on the album covers, rather than inside. I loved the typography and how initial letters of each song lyric were illustrated in a Book of Hours style. The inside spread was occupied by two pure flower-power portraits of Williamson and Heron together.

The album title imagined a friend of the band (Wee Tam) contemplating the vastness of the universe (the Big Huge) and the work was hallmarked by a vast array of stringed and other instruments from around the globe. The songs were written by Williamson or Heron, always individually. Both men had quite disparate styles. Heron largely embraced a warm, simplistic celebration of the natural world, while Williamson’s lyrics were full of mythical wonder, with imagery raided from paganism.

Heron’s tunes had immediacy. Williamson’s took more getting to know. Yet, their voices work so well together. Their instrumental playing is at times inspired, and the way they blend vocals and instrumentation allows two different souls to become one. As much as the playing shimmered with virtuosity, there was also a coy, amateurish side to the band, which was endearing to fans and annoying to everyone else. Their ramshackle approach, particularly on stage, was a real part of the band’s charm and what made them one man’s meat.

This was a spiritual band in more senses than one. There were two-minute songs alongside nine-minute songs, yet it was a comfortable relationship. At times the stream of consciousness mysticism might get a bit confused, only to be relieved by a nursery rhyme tune. This band can be profound and cheesy and it all works superbly. Above all, they have an innate sense of humor that ensures we do not take them too seriously. There’s night but plenty of day here too.

Wee Tam is arguably the more accessible disc with notable highlights like Heron’s rousing “Log Cabin in the Sky”, colorful and optimistic “You Get Brighter”, and the atmospheric “Air”. It’s a precursor for the brilliance of the Big Huge where Williamson’s creative touch dominates. The second disc starts with the wondrous epic “Maya”, which is sheer poetry and imagination set to vibrant music. The song ends with the sentiment that humanity creates a “troubled voyage in calm weather.” The overriding sense is that there is little wrong with the natural world and it is man who must find his place and learn to live in peace with the earth and his fellow occupiers.

Another peak for me, is the mystic-poetic “The Iron Stone”, a slow-burn exploration, which suddenly morphs into the hippy equivalent of rap as “love paints the cart with suns for wheels” and ends in a wonderful instrumental melange with Heron’s sitar dueling with Williamson’s guitar. It’s sheer brilliance, and you feel exhausted and exhilarated afterward. Mind you, Heron manages to outdo his band mate with weirdness on this side of the album, with the impermeable “Douglas Traherne Harding”.

The real joy of Wee Tam and the Big Huge is that it takes you to places few albums have or will. It is nature’s roller coaster ride. It’s green before its time, haunting and plaintiff, spiritual and uplifting, funny and sad, baffling and informed, and it should be in everyone’s record collection, preferably on vinyl.

Released mid-summer in 1996, Sublime was the band’s only album to come out under the wing of a major record label (Gasoline Alley/MCA), and what’s tragic about it is that frontman Bradley Nowell didn’t even make it alive long enough to see it hit the stores. Nevertheless, Nowell’s heroin-related death didn’t prevent his last work from going Platinum five times and becoming this little lass’s party predilection.

Although some may say Sublime was just an unfortunate product of the 90s lowlife Cali crowd, or a mindless surfer boy experiment, I’m repping the LBC all the way. With tracks as classic as “Garden Grove”, “April 29, 1992”, “Doin’ Time”, “Caress Me Down”, and basically almost every other one on the album, I’m more than proud to bare my guilty pleasure. From beginning to end, Sublime captures the band’s ska, punk, & reggae kicks, offering a variety of styles from the radio-friendly, super boppy “What I Got”, to the slow, drawn out, sexy guitar of “Pawn Shop”, hardcore punk of “Paddle Out”, and chill hip-hop & latin vibes in “Doin’ Time”. This last track might be my sole favorite. It’s the perfect blend of soft congas, looping drum and bass, and the seductive serenade style that was Nowell’s forte.

I’m not much of a reggae fan, but listening to that man’s voice glide over their dubs, I can’t help but start hopping. There is such a decadent sexiness in his voice when it joins forces with the cadence of his guitar in numbers like “Pawn Shop”, it makes my hips just come alive and once the gyrating starts, it becomes contagious. It’s that neo-reggae funk that, for me, makes Sublime the band that means summertime.

Regardless of their obvious struggle with hard drugs, the guys in the band were able to produce carefree music, sometimes even incorporating a grimy sense of humor into their lyrics (see “Wrong Way”). They speak so clearly about a life of beer, weed, and desolate career prospects — a life I’ve come to know so well living in Miami, surrounded by twenty-somethings without direction and a love for days off. It always seemed to me like Nowell, bassist Bud Gaugh, and drummer Eric Wilson lead the same kind of existence. Southern Cali seems to be the 305 of the West Coast, and because our homes parallel each other, it’s easy for me to identify with their music, especially during times of leisure. This album, specifically, is great when you’re in the mood to take a load off and loosen up, maybe get a little raunchy, and break it down to “Caress Me Down”. This song masters the Long Beach dub beat and kills with its lyrics in Nowell’s broken Spanish, which is dirtier than a month-old litterbox.

Knowing the band’s history, their music also inspires a sort of rebellious nostalgia in me, especially tracks like “April 29, 1992”, which is truly more like an anthem than just a single. The second the bass kicks in after the cops are talking on the radio, a feeling of camaraderie is born within you. The song screams 1990s revolution with that killer bass line and the dropping of a “187” so casually in there. Perhaps there is just something extremely gratifying about hearing your hometown shouted out in a song about a riot. What’s great about Sublime’s version of rebellion is that it’s liberating without carrying that Cobain-esque aura of suffocation, which makes it more empowering rather than teenage angst-y. “Can’t fight against the youth!” declares Nowell in “Jailhouse”, and tell me that’s not just the kind of idealism you love to be a part of.

There are three basic elements that make Sublime worthy of keeping it in your iPod, even after you think you couldn’t bear to hear these songs more than you already have. First off, they had Brad Nowell for a vocalist at the time. The guy’s voice is like a lullaby that acts as a social lubricant. His soft moans and “everyman lyrics” always bear a sensuality that rolls so well over, around, and underneath the second reason to love them: Their beats are just so frickin’ laid back. Always kickin’ it with a relaxed bass and a backyard-band style drum beat that, together, invite you to join their group and their atmosphere by simply hanging out. Lastly, they couldn’t be Sublime without the synth dubs. In “Garden Grove”, they finish off the song with a sick turntable jam that follows Nowell’s listing of all his miserable activities. Marshall Goodman’s scratching combined with the slow drums and the song’s traditional ska/punk guitar make for a tune that is really just — there’s no other way to put it — sublime.

She’s been with me since 1999, bouncing onto the scene with her repressed sexuality and teasing strut. That’s right, folks, I’m speaking of the one and only Britney Spears. I think I love her. Musically, of course. As a rule, I always do my best to separate art from the artist and she is no exception.

Please, don’t judge me. Her influence alone is enough to give her a chance. Even the indiest of the indie know who she is — and I know a few people who conspicuously don’t change the station when “Toxic” comes on. Just remember girls, if your boyfriend jumps a little when you grab at his Ipod, you might want to check under the “B’s” — there’s probably a dirty little secret lying there.

Yes, I know she doesn’t write all her songs. Yes, I am aware she is but a figurehead fronting a giant, money-making empire. But say what you want; when it comes to pop music, she’s got it. I reel at the genius of “If You Seek Amy”, I spin in glittery circles whenever I hear “E-mail My Heart”, I start bouncing up and down uncontrollably when I hear “Womanizer”. As I drive my car, I will slowly and discretely roll my windows up while I stoically recite “…Baby One More Time” (When I played an assortment of cover songs at a bar in college, that one brought the house down!). Listen to my (guilty) pleasure and you can hear the forefront of pop. Ms. Spears does it, people copy it. Mandy Moore did, Christina Aguilera did, and now there’s Katie Perry and Lady Gaga – auto-tuned, multi-layered vocals sang over hard-hitting synths and electro dancehall beats — tell me I’m lyin’!

Despite this tried and true fact about her, I’ll be the first person to admit that I become a little bit dumber every time I listen. Had I never been introduced to the mind numbing sex-pot, you better believe I’d be an astrophysicist solving issues involving string theory. Afterward, I’d take a puff from a pipe full of fine Indian tobacco I was given after I had rescued an entire village from terrorists high up in the Himalayas with The Most Interesting Man Alive. (FYI, The Most Interesting Man Alive has a Britney ringtone on his new 3GS, I’m told.)

I’m just hoping that one day blonde hair doesn’t start sprouting from my scalp: I’m very happy with my decidedly curly brunette locks. Although if for some reason I start getting tan without sunlight, updating my Facebook page with quotes like, “There’s only two types of guys out there…” and randomly tell people that my life is like a circus, please tie me to a skateboard and roll me in the direction of the nearest 100 foot drop — trust me, it’ll be necessary and for my own good.

Don’t lie either folks, as we walk down the streets with our white ear buds hanging nonchalantly out of our ears, pretending that we are, indeed, a “Womanizer”, and that yes, “It’s [insert own name here], bitch.” We want to dance, but society says no! Speaking of dancing, maybe we might even fantasize that we were a certain guy dancing our way into Ms. Spears bedroom…

So when we see each other on the Blue Line, Starbucks in hand, maybe we could give a little pinkie wiggle, just to say, you know, symbolically, that we’re there for each other, and that, like, we’ve totally called her hotline.

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I returned to the East Coast enlightened by pop music’s newest princes, and there was soon a period of time where after a day at school (and, ok, many Friday nights), you could find my friends and I hunkered down at someone’s house, watching The Box. The Box was a magical concept for those of us without cable television and therefore no MTV or VH1. A television channel that operated like a music video jukebox, it allowed one to call and request any video you wanted to see for a mere 99 cents. I don’t think we ever forked over the dough, but we did sit there, hoping some other teen pop addict waved their mom’s credit card so N*Sync’s “Tearing Up My Heart” would be next. Yeah, it’s a fair and accurate statement to conclude that my time in high school was not my glory days.

Then, like every good college student, I became a music snob. Full of pride, I entered an era where I scoffed at N*Sync’s breakup and Justin Timberlake’s first solo album. I rolled my eyes and cranked up Guster and Dispatch on Napster. Music righteousness set in, and I blissfully stroked it until a fateful car ride the day after Christmas 2006. The man driving the car was someone I bonded with over Patty Griffin and Ryan Adams.  He dropped a disco ball on me, confessing he loved the Justin Timberlake album FutureSex/LoveSounds. After a brief moment of horror, during which time I felt the foundations of our relationship tremble, he turned up the CD.

I loved it. I didn’t want the car ride to end. I kept my cool through the first few tracks but was totally busted when I asked to replay the guitar riff interlude in “Lovestoned/I Think She Knows”. My pride shattered like the disco ball on the album art.

I am not a fan of every track on the album (the ones where Timberlake tries to go all Marvin Gaye give me the creeps), but the ones that have that special Timbaland vibe — “What Goes Around…”, “My Love”,  “Summer Love”, and “Chop Me Up” — own some of my top play counts of all time. With lyrics like “You ch-cheated girl, my heart bleeded girl,” this almost-English major and lover of lyrics forgives all grammatical missteps for Timberlake and Timbaland’s sweet, sassy, smooth, sultry beats. I run to it. I cook to it. I dance to it when no one is around. My love for this album almost drove me to buy Timbaland’s solo project. When I say Rick Rubin is a genius, it’s not just because of his work with Johnny Cash. There, it’s all out!

If I seem open about this, trust me, I feel guilty listening to it. Case in point: while I was writing this with FutureSex looping in the background, the cable man showed up to install my basic-basic of all basic package (thanks, government for making me do away with the perfectly good bunny ears that have served me just fine for six years). Anyway, I had to answer the door. I hit F3 and paused, my mouse hovering over my iTunes. I had a choice to make…and I caved and switched it to Rhett Miller. Dang! Guilty embarrassment won the day.

That’s what guilt does, doesn’t it? It makes us want to hide or put up a front. Bottom line, Timberlake has got this little lady screwed up off of his melody,  and until (if ever) I’m comfortable in hip-hop pop skin, I’ll live with the guilt… and the pleasure. However, I’ll gladly duck behind Patty Griffin when need be.

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But anger is only half the equation. “Headfirst for Halos” is all rises and falls, the sweet up and down, the essential and opposing halves of a greater universal whole. “The red ones make me fly/and the blues ones help me fall/and I think I’ll blow my brains against the ceiling/and as the fragments of my skull begin to fall/fall on your tongue like pixie dust/just think happy thoughts and we’ll fly home.” The welcoming of death, juxtaposed against moments of such fierce happiness, made this song utterly irresistible, a study in contrasts.

Who sings such an earth-rending song, you might ask? This is such a guilty pleasure, I cringe to type it… My Chemical Romance. The very words trigger images of a legion of teenagers with hair dyed as black as their hearts; kids who wear sad-cartoon-character shirts and piles of plastic jewelry. Kids who bear the burden of their eyeliner patiently and without a hint of irony.

But back before there were black-on-black band uniforms and stop-motion music videos, there was a little debut album called I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love (IBYMB, YBMYL). Which isn’t to imply that this record isn’t emo. Reflecting on ended romances and how to defend one’s lover from the undead, IBYMB, YBMYL is as skillfully angry as you’d want it from a dark-pop band, layered over a driving drum rhythm and quick, raging guitar lines. My younger self pounded out many hours on the treadmill at the college gym to tracks like “Honey, This Mirror Isn’t Big Enough for the Two of Us” and “Drowning Lessons”. Subject matter fluctuates between the serious (the band was formed post-9/11, and the song “Skylines and Turnstiles” reflects their feelings on the matter) and the insane (for how to deal with things that go bump in the night, please reference “Vampires Will Never Hurt You”, or “Early Sunsets Over Monroeville”, about impending zombie attacks).

So the guilty part is pretty easy to see. But the pleasure? That’s all in the emotion. On this record, MCR shows off their essential qualities, the ones that helped launch their next release to greatness and were later lost along the road to emo-pop fame. The original MCR is full of anger and hurt, genuine garage-band no-one-has-ever-hurt-this-much-before hurt, and this record teems with it, as well as pure, transcendental punk-flavored joy. On “Drowning Lessons”, the band considers the question of mortality: “We’ll laugh as we die/and celebrate the end of things/with cheap champagne.” Lead singer Gerard Way is by turns furious and empathetic on “Our Lady of Sorrows.” “Stand up fucking tall/don’t let them see your back/and take my fucking hand/ and never be afraid again”, he screams into the microphone, just before the guitar bursts into the billion brilliant spirals that make up the opening riff of “Headfirst for Halos”.

So if you’re next to me on the train, alright, maybe I won’t let you see me pull up MCR on my iPod. Regardless of how guilty a pleasure this is, though, I’ll definitely be keeping IBYMB, YBMYL in my rotation. After all, sometimes all a girl wants is someone to save her from the zombies.

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In album opener “Feels So Good”, sleek synthesizers and other sonic effects evoke the sound of a spaceship readying for take off, before turning into a booty-shakin’ romp. The sleazy groove of “Little L” is propelled by a simple, yet killer, bass line – courtesy of then-bassist, Nick Fyffe. Sample lyric: “Why does it have to be like this/I can never tell/You make me love you love you baby/with a little L”. Not Shakespeare by any stretch, but this doesn’t much matter when you’re jamming to it on the dance floor.

Three and a half-minute trifle “You Give Me Something” provides a bed of synthesized, layered vocals for such profound ruminations as, “You give me somethin’/somethin’ that nobody else has got.”

“Corner of the Earth” is the showstopper: a meditative bossanova-tinged ballad featuring soaring trumpets and swirling strings. Jay Kay croons, “Nature’s got me high/And it’s so beautiful,” as the song careens toward its climax on a squall of larger-than-life sound. Track five, “Love Foolosophy”, is that rare pop song that packs an actual emotional punch while throwing an irresistible groove your way. “Stop, Don’t Panic” is guitar-driven and danceable. “Main Vein” sounds like Donna Summer crossed with a blaxploitation soundtrack, complete with soulful female backing vocals and wah-wah guitars.

Jay & Co. even return to their social commentary roots on the acoustic “Black Crow”. Strings and soaring harmonies swirl as he laments the absence of spirituality in modern culture. The Rock guitars and computerized vocals on “Twenty Zero One” befit a song about the dehumanizing effects of technology. The poignant, Latin-flavored ballad “Picture of My Life” follows (if I’m in the right mood, this song can actually make me cry), before the bouncy bonus track “Feels Good To Be Real” closes out the album.

Truthfully, I don’t feel all that guilty about loving this album. I still remember rockin’ to these tunes for most of 2002; and even listening to it today, I find the album ages well. Return of the Space Cowboy may be their best album; Traveling Without Moving was more successful; but with its invigorating, dancefloor-ready tunes, A Funk Odyssey remains my favorite. I should be ashamed to listen to such eager-to-please music, but, honestly, what is wrong with being eager to be pleased?

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Scandinavians Lene Rasted, René Dif, Søren Rasted, and Claus Norreen delivered one of the guiltiest pleasures imaginable, Aquarium – a euro-dance album succeeding Ace of Base’s The Sign in U.S. popularity. Scoff if you like, but Aqua made an impact. With a bubblegum sound and consistent theme of happiness streaming through the album, Aquarium is just the “happy-pill” Doctor Jones prescribed. How else would the U.S. cope with the Lewinsky scandal and Potter’s numerous trials and tribulations?

One may think Aqua is so mysterious, but don’t take it all too serious. Instead, listen to Aquarium as I detail the good, the bad, and the “happy-pill” lyric of each song.

“Happy Boys & Girls”

Good - It has a great beat to dance to, that is, if you’re into glow sticks and pacifiers.

Bad - The song can be a bit repetitive. By the first refrain you’re ready to skip past the next six or so.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric - There are almost too many to choose from in this song. However, the most straightforward is “Happy boys and happy girls, we’ll be/Oh yeah, so happy …”

“My Oh My”

Good - The sound of a horse galloping in the beginning really draws one’s inner equestrian out.

Bad - Dif’s lyrics are lacking. “Gotta steal from the rich, when they don’t know I’m coming/Gotta give to the poor, no time for lovin’.” I need something more original than a Robin Hood reference.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric – “If you were my king …/I would be your queen …” If Lene can dream of a happy ending with Dif, than there is no reason the Clintons cannot work it out.

“Barbie Girl”

Good - The social commentary on Barbie and Ken set to a dance-pop beat is choice. When Mattel took legal action against MCA Records, Judge Alex Kozinski ruled, “The parties are advised to chill.” Aqua – 1, Mattel – 0!

Bad - Due to this song, sexual frustration in teenagers rose to an all-time high, as Barbies flew off the shelf and into the bedroom.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric - “You can touch, you can play/You can say I’m always yours.” This would make any couple happy.

“Good Morning Sunshine”

Good -The Spanish-influenced sound paired with Dif’s rapping is an unexpected direction. Vive Aqua Gangsta’!

Bad - Lene seems to be reaching vocally. In this case, one should stick with what they’re good at.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric – This is somewhat of a “downer” song for Aqua, but the “sunshine” can still be found. “Feel the heat come out of the cold/And your arm is touching me/Good morning sunshine.”

“Doctor Jones”

Good - Everything! The back and forth between Lene and Dif is at its best in this song. In addition, who doesn’t love an Indiana Jones reference and a little dance-pop yodeling?

Bad - Nothing! Seriously, this is as infallible as Dr. Henry Walton Jones Jr.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric - This is for anyone who has ever been in a long distance relationship. “Baby, I am missing you/I want you by my side/And I hope you’ll miss me too/Come back and Stay/I think about you every day/I really want you too/You swept my feet right off the ground,You’re the love I found.”

“Heat of the Night”

Good - “Doctor Jones” is a tough act to follow, and “Heat of the Night” struggles to accomplish the feat. There is nothing good to say.

Bad – The worst is Dif’s “new” accent. I’m sorry, but it fails along with the entire song.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric - “Life is easy, on a holiday/All your problems seem so far away/The bar is open, and everybody sings …”

“Be a Man”

Good - Lene sounds reminiscent of Cindi Lauper, while the entire song is reminiscent of the ’80s, and it works. Kudos goes to Søren and his keyboarding skills. I’m also a fan of the “stop” tactic Lene uses around 3:22. This tactic has been seen recently as well. For example, Pink uses it in her song “Sober”.

Bad - The lyrics are putting a damper on the last prescription. Aqua needs to send a major “happy-pill” immediately.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric – “‘Cause our love is the real thing/And it hurts like hell, but I will be strong …” Once again, my faith in the Clintons is reaffirmed. 

“Lollipop (Candyman)”

Good – All aboard the happy train, coming from Bountyland! After the slower paced “Be a Man”, Aqua is back with Lene and Dif in full-force.

Bad - The unnecessary repetition at the end could be discarded.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric – “Oh my love, I know you are my candyman/And oh my love, your word is my command.” Again, there is a lyric to make the couples happy.

“Roses are Red”

Good – Lene’s yodeling and “dum di da di da” is stupendous, and the majority of Dif’s lyrics are pleasing (see below).

Bad - Dif singing, “Come pick my roses,” is disturbing.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric - It is about time Dif had something good to say. “It’s invisible, but so touchable and/I can feel it on my body/So emotional/I’m on a ride, on a ride/I’m a passenger/I’m a victim of a hot love messenger.”

“Turn Back Time”

Good – The slower paced song allows Lene’s vocal range to shine.

Bad - The music attempts to dull the aforementioned shine.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric - “Claim your right to science/ Claim your right to see the truth.” Claiming something makes people feel happy. Unfortunately, Aqua’s utopia doesn’t account for how often the truth is clouded along the way.

“Calling You”

Good – Listen closely, at parts it sounds like Joan Osborne’s “One of Us”.

Bad – The “spelling bee” is excruciating.

“Happy-Pill” Lyric – Telephone calls make millions happy. That is why cellular telephones are so prevalent in society. “I’m calling you/Calling you now.”

One by one, Aqua made it fun. However, feel free to slip back to 2009 if you would like. Refrain from punishing yourself for enjoying Aquarium because guilty pleasures are only fun if you can partake in them.

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Or perhaps not; Sam Sparro is our light at the end of the tunnel. Alongside breakthrough acts including Daniel Merriweather and Patrick Wolf, Sparro has been making a lot of noise with his new-age funk. On the face of it, we have a 26 year old, openly gay Australian with a flamboyant dress sense and falsetto voice, but there is far more to him than that. He’s brought a fresh mix of electro, funk and soul to the table that has turned heads for the last few years.

However, fame is a cruel, cruel beast. One minute you are there, riding a wave of fan admiration, the next you are some washed-up “has-been” performing your songs in trashy bars. His first single, “Black And Gold”, was a hit across the globe, dominating music video channels and chart programs. A Grammy nomination followed … after all, the support of the industry had always been there- not many could class Chaka Chan as one of their biggest ‘fans’ at the tender age of 10. Sam Sparro was going to be a star.

Or not. As a species, humans seem to hold the ability to lose interest at the flip of a coin. The album sunk, (in relative terms-#4 on the UK charts isn’t weak by most people’s estimation) and the release of a consequent single was canceled.

So, why did the album sink? Well, most people bought into “Black And Gold”, not Sam Sparro. As a single, it was flexible, just as playable at a beach party, as in a seedy nightclub. It does, however, cut a lonely figure on the album, as the funk influences are seriously reined in, whereas elsewhere his imagination is let to run free.

Despite the critical reception, most of my musically inclined friends share an undying love of this album. He has a cult-like following, and I am sometimes embarrassed to class myself among them. Why, you might ask? Well, I suppose it doesn’t fit in with the mantle of a music fanatic. It’s the album I put on when I want to reveal the inner performer. There is something so outrageously flamboyant about Sam Sparro, you really can’t afford to hold anything back.

As a debut album, this is an audacious move, but then, that’s exactly what makes this guy special. The music is so carefully crafted that you really don’t notice the pure volume of random artistry that finds its way onto each and every song. The nearest example is Kanye’s 808′s & Heartbreak, filled to the brim with electronic beeps, drum kicks, hand claps and what not. This is really an immersive experience, the modern age’s version of the wall of sound technique. By God, does it work …

The first four songs set the tone brilliantly, and are all perfection. The frenetic celebration of “21st Century Life” quickly blends into “Sick’s” electro driven introspection.

“How do I cling to the frame of divine timing/Why do I doubt sometimes, that of which I know for sure/Why when I’ve had enough, do I seem to ask for more?” … “Too Many Questions”

And while his current situation is dire, things could have been so different. His first promo single “Cottonmouth” was edgy, a recollection of the effects of drug induced dehydration. Not exactly chart-baiting, and it was quickly glossed over. “Black And Gold” brought him back from the brink.

For every piece of lyrical wizardry, there are serious missteps – see “Clingwrap”: “You must have thought I was a snack/ because you’re sticking to me/ like clingwrap …” These are easily forgotten. Just let that silky smooth voice lull you into the groove, and the lyrics might as well mean nothing. Sparro has been attacked for his lapses, but he put it down to immaturity. “I’m silly sometimes,” Sparro said.

It’s another tick in the box with “Sally”. The album might be funk, but the delivery isn’t always PG:

‘Sally, oh those thick caramel thighs. And something else your momma gave you- those beautiful green eyes. The same kind of green, like the dollars that they stick to you.’

“Hot Mess” is a boast. It’s an unabashed gloating, and I love it. The pitch is perfect, rising up into a whistle, “I know you fancy yourself as a sexy bitch, it’s in the way that you a-a-a-r-r-re.” Even more impressive are his live performances of said song. I will quickly point you toward his unbelievable cover of  “American Boy” (see below). This guy is versatility defined, switching it up between his soulful middle range, a rap and then his pitch perfect falsetto. Masterful.

Barring the first few tracks, “Can’t Stop This” was worthy of a single release. Sketchy guitars, echoed vocals and a siren synth from the ’80s really highlight how much variety the album showcases.

“Pocket” is another dark track, built around the repeated chorus of “Keep your friends close, and your enemies in your pocket.” This is all just far too easy for him, and at times he does slide backwards into his talent.

I take this album for what it represents – the birth, quiet and confident, of a future star. Sam Sparro has a lot to say, but yes, he loses it sometimes. Take it from me, with a little fine tuning album number two is going to be an opus. His currently untitled follow up is due August 31, 2009. Sam Sparro established him as one to watch, and that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.

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So what went wrong? Well, for starters, U2 booked its massive, stadium-only PopMart Tour before they had even finished recording the album. The band was left with no choice but to release it in its incomplete form so they would have some time to rehearse. Both the album and tour suffered because of this, while attempts at irony over corporate sponsorship fell flat as well.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, in spite of all these problems, I still rank Pop within the top half of U2’s catalogue. Before I incur the wrath of some hardcore U2 fans, you should know that I don’t find this album to be perfect. There are a large number of flaws on the record, but there are also a lot of great points to be found. If you want, stream the album and listen along as I list the good, the bad and the clunkiest lyric of each song – this album’s full of them.

“Discotheque”

Good – It has an incredibly funkadelic riff. Bono flows in and out of falsetto at the bridge.

Bad – Bono takes the moaning a little too far around 4:23. The music video (see below) is terrible. Why did U2 dress as the Village People? Did they lose a bet with someone?

Clunkiest Lyric – “You know you’re chewing bubble gum You know what it is but you still want some/You just can’t get enough of that lovie dovie stuff.”

“Do You Feel Loved”

Good – It has a great dance groove. I love when everything but the drums drop out at 2:05 for a few seconds, leaving Bono’s voice to glide over the beat.

Bad – Edge’s shrill guitar part seems to work against the bass and drum rhythm. The chorus could have also done with some more lyrics than just, “Do you feel loved?” over and over.

Clunkiest Lyric – “And it looks like the sun, but it feels like rain/And there’s heat in the sun to see us through the rain.”

“Mofo”

Good – The baseman Cometh! This is one of Adam Clayton’s best bass lines. The Edge’s guitar sounds like an airplane turbine. I love his distorted backing vocals in the verses too. One of the few tracks where the entire band is at the top of the game.

Bad – The repeating lyrics at the end block Edge’s mini-solo from being heard clearly. The single version of “Mofo” was a horrible and generic dance remix.

Clunkiest Lyric – “Holy dunc, spacejunk comin’ in for the splash.”

“If God Will Send His Angels”

Good – Bono’s singing halfway through the second verse into the chorus is perfect as he steadily moves up his range from lower to high to falsetto.

Bad – Who in U2 thought it would be a good idea to have this extremely slow ballad follow the fast-paced beat of “Mofo”? It’s like moving from speed to Ritalin in a matter of seconds.

Clunkiest Lyric – “It’s the blind leading the blond/It’s the stuff, it’s the stuff of country songs.”

“Staring At The Sun”

Good – I like the distorted echo of Edge’s guitar and the chorus is catchy.

Bad – Almost everything else. The electric guitar is drowned out by the acoustic one. The music video consists of U2 playing/standing around while light hits them at different angles. It is quite dull.

Clunkiest Lyric – “There’s an insect in your ear/If you scratch it won’t disappear.”

“Last Night on Earth”

Good – Nice rocking tune with a crunchy riff. The chorus is very memorable. Bono’s falsetto overlapping his semi-speaking during the bridge works well here.

Bad - The opening of the song sounds awkward, from Bono’s mumbling to the synthesizer in the first 30 seconds. Bono’s vocals sound shredded in the chorus.

Clunkiest Lyric – “When the fuel goes down she stops her car/Says it feels like freedom/She’s back on the street where the sweet smells are.” This is said in Bono’s opening mumble.

“Gone”

Good – Edge’s turbine guitar is back and in a much more dominant position. The entire chorus is a superb combination of the turbine guitar, piano and Bono’s strong vocal performance.

Bad – All the strength leaves Bono’s voice in the verse after the bridge.

Clunkiest Lyric – “Gone/Sun/Done.” This is repeated in falsetto at the end.

“Miami”

Good – Um, it’s an interesting . . . experiment?

Bad – Alright, I can’t lie. I don’t like this song at all.  Bono shouldn’t rap. Edge should never say, “Ba ba ba” again. The track hardly changes throughout its full five minutes and when it does, nothing gets better.  It sounds really half-baked.

Clunkiest Lyric – The entire song! But I’ll go with, “Miami/My mammy” for now.

“The Playboy Mansion”

Good – From about 2:40 onward, it’s amazing with a powerful delivery from Bono. The song really takes off musically and lyrically.

Bad – The first half sounds like a porno soundtrack from the 1970s, with its outdated lyrics.

Clunkiest Lyric – It’s a tie between, “If Coke is a mystery/And Michael Jackson, history” and, “If O.J. is more than a drink/And a Big Mac bigger than we think.”

“If You Wear That Velvet Dress”

Good – It sounds like a lounge song, which is different for U2. Edge’s guitar solo near the middle has a very relaxed, floating feel to it.

Bad – Bono spends half the track in a low register. It’s supposed to make him sound seductive, but it actually makes him sound creepy.

Clunkiest Lyric – “The moon was naked and cold/I was like a two year old/Who just wanted more.”

“Please”

Good – It’s one of the most political songs U2 has ever written. The band gives everything to this balled about the Irish Troubles, with an amazing vocal and lyrical performance from Bono. The bridge and final chorus are one of the most emotionally charged moments in U2’s history.

Bad - It takes a while for the band to get to the emotional impact of the song.

Clunkiest Lyric – This song doesn’t have any.

“Wake Up Dead Man”

Good – This is a very fitting ending for Pop, especially after “Please”. It’s the darkest song on this album, and perhaps ever for U2. Fun fact: If you listen to it backwards, you can hear some of  “Van Diemen’s Land” from Rattle and Hum.

Bad – It goes on a little too long, and not much happens musically.

Clunkiest Lyric – “Your father, he made the world in seven/He’s in charge of Heaven/Will you put a word in for me.”

There you have it. Hopefully, some of you have listened to Pop along with me and have seen its value. While it’s true the album isn’t perfect, there are a lot of great songs on it. So, if you haven’t listened to it yet, you might want to check it out. You’ll see that U2’s so-called “failure” is more successful than many would think.

I wasn’t yet a teenager when I first saw a video of five California girls cruising in a classic red convertible and frolicking through a water fountain in all their early ’80s glitz and glory. The video for “Our Lips are Sealed” was my first introduction to Belinda Carlisle, Jane Wiedlin, Charlotte Caffey, Kathy Valentine and Gina Schock. It was love at first sight. The Go-Go’s, along with KISS, were one of the first to win my rock ‘n’ roll heart. They weren’t exactly L7, but those girls could rock.

The Go-Go’s first album, Beauty and the Beat, was an incredibly catchy, power pop classic with punk undertones. They were valley girls with electric guitars and attitude – a more optimistic Sex Pistols dressed in drag and dipped in sugar. Songs such as “How Much More”, “Can’t Stop the World” and, of course, “Our Lips are Sealed” showcase the band’s energy and song writing flair. “This Town”, with lyrics like, “We’re all dreamers- we’re all whores / Discarded stars / Like worn out cars,” reveal a grittier side.  “We Got the Beat” is one of the most recognizable and danceable songs of the ’80s, setting the tone for the classic film, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. The band definitely had its own sound, and unlike many of today’s acts, the Go-Go’s didn’t rely on outside songwriters or drum machines for success.

The band released two other studio albums in their prime, Vacation and Talk Show, before creative differences and drug problems forced the group to disband in 1985. They reunited in 1990 for a benefit concert and have toured on and off ever since, releasing a couple of compilations and one studio album (God Bless The Go-Go’s) along the way.

The Go-Go’s may not be considered musical geniuses or the coolest band on the planet, but they have a timeless energy and a knack for writing songs that kick around in your memory. I don’t listen to them like I once did, but if a Go-Go’s tune comes on the radio I still turn it up – I just have to guard the dial with my life.

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Free at Last is a refuge for uninspired, white boy rap. Uninspired Christian white boy rap. If Vanilla Ice got religion and then made a record with Amy Grant’s producer, they’d make a better record than Free at Last. It would be unlistenable, but you know, it’d still be better.

And yet, here I am, a film geek and audiophile listening to an album I would normally burn by bonfire, and I would dance around that bonfire with glee knowing I had saved a soul from aural hell. There will be no dancing and no bonfires. Alas, it is so, and I can do nothing to change that sad, sad fact.

Free at Last is a record that spells its songs incorrectly to appear more relevant. Observe: “Luv is a Verb” and “Word 2 the Father”. I know the words to both. On “Luv is a Verb”, I sing along with “Thinkin’ of a way to explain-o / ‘Cause ya know when I’m flowin’ like a bottle of drain-o.” I do so without a hint of sarcasm. As I sing “Word, say word 2 the Father / Above any other, say word to the Father / Pump, pump, pump, pump it up!” I pump my fist in time – in my car in 5 o’clock traffic. Represent. This one’s for the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit!  Word.

DC Talk covers their bases. What Contemporary Christian record aimed at teens would be complete without an ode to abstinence? That’s right. There was an entire generation of horny teenagers singing “I Don’t Want It” and really trying to mean it. “Safe is the way they say to play / Then again safe ain’t safe at all today / So just wait for the mate that’s straight from God / Don’t have sex ‘til you tie the knot.” Condoms from the school nurse? I don’t think so.

I still attend a Presbyterian church, evangelical Presbyterian (what some might say should be a guilty pleasure), and I still listen to Free at Last. There is no defense of such a record, and yet, I love it. Unabashedly. Truly. I listen to it several times a year. I sing along. I sing loud, and I sing proud, lifting a sanctified middle finger to anyone saying I shouldn’t, can’t – in good conscience – listen to such terrible, awful music.

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For me this self-question raising album, and band would be Zombies! Aliens! Vampires! Dinosaurs! by Hellogoodbye. The guitar parts make me feel as though I could probably pick a Strat’ up and play them in a few hours with absolutely no prior experience. The vocals could have come from any preteen-karaoke-party across the nation, and the drums are respectable, but don’t make up for making you feel like your back in middle school. Simply put, Hellogoodbye is for the nerd in me that was extremely uncomfortable around girls in high school.

I would more than gladly jump right back in a Hellogoodbye crowd at Warped Tour, where I could hold up lead singer Forrest Kline, as he crowd surfs on an inflatable raft, all the while bananas, beer, and hotdogs dance onstage.

Lead song “All Of Your Love” is essential Hellogoodbye: a simple drum beat underneath keyboards, guitar and Kline’s nasally, yet lovable voice, singing lyrics which carry a Weezer-type cheesiness, “All of your love is all that I needed/and I can’t be close enough unless I’m feelin’ your heartbeat.”

Lead single off the album, “Here (In Your Arms)” thrusts the band into a spotlight that was never the goal, but attained nonetheless. This is the most enjoyable song on the album. I mean, come on, who hasn’t had that person that you wanted to whisper, “Hello I miss you quite terribly”? It might have been when you were 16, but don’t try to act like those times didn’t matter at least a little.

The rest of the album makes my case a little harder, but essentially add up to more of the same. One song with a different tone to it comes at track six. “Oh, It Is Love” starts out as a solo track with Kline playing the ukulele and singing about (guess what?) love! It’s a welcome change in tone from the earlier overbearingly sweet pop-punk and almost sounds like it could fit perfectly on a Jason Mraz album.

I would be remiss not to mention “Touchdown Turnaround (Don’t Give Up On Me)”, which is flat out party dance song, and if you ever get a chance to see the band live, it’s by far the absolute highlight. It should be the last song on the album, however “Two Weeks In Hawaii” closes the record on an almost subtle tone.

If you don’t try to take yourself or the band seriously it’s easy to enjoy. Of course, if you’re comfortable in the Motion City Soundtrack, The Early November, or Steel Train crowd, Hellogoodbye may feel right at home. The band’s goal eight years ago when they formed was merely to woo crushes and entertain friends. Really though, that’s all they do now, just in front of thousands of people who know how to have a good time, dance, and not care if the music playing isn’t the best or most original thing ever created.

I take a certain amount of pride in almost everything I ever like musically so it’s difficult for me to call anything a guilty pleasure, but the cotton candy sweet lyrics of Kline and Hellogoodbye are too good for me to resist. If it means having to tell the sixteen-year-old’s at Warped Tour to watch their hands, well it’s just a sacrifice I’ll have to make.

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“Touchdown Turnaround (Don’t Give Up On Me)”

Yet…even as I type out this long, mentally-overdue review and hope to god (“Hey, God!”) I’m not accidentally ghetto blasting out Nine Inch Nail’s “Head Like a Hole” into the quiet library where I sit typing, I still have some difficulty understanding why that wouldn’t be the best idea. I like that the fluttery drum machine beats, the ever-present Roland 808 synths, the pseudo-African tinged beats (think George Bush in Africa) could have only been put down by a semi-savvy white boy from Mercer, PA.

Sorry to say, I haven’t listened to Pretty Hate Machine, or “Halo 2“, as it’s called by devoted ninnys, in a few years, and though I do still know all the words (note: try me), I’m a bit rusty. I don’t even know if I could make it through the record without sitting here red-faced and wincing just a little. So, in order to determine if this should be categorized as a “guilty pleasure,” I propose to make myself your guinea pig. I, a former 15-year-old Trent Reznor expert, will take on my current much older, “improved” self. Track by track, I’ll write up my initial thoughts on each track, “Head Like a Hole” through “Ringfinger” (1 thru 10, for the uninitiated). And if I die, dear god, please know that I donated myself, body and soul, to science.

That being said, feel free to listen along with me! (Run time is 49:00)

“Head Like a Hole” - At 0:26, that Roland synth “bass” riff kills me. Not sorry about that. Wince-good lyric: “God Money, let’s go dancin’ on the backs of the bruised!”

“Terrible Lie” - Tinkly industrial music boxy sounds fall off at the very beginning to Reznor-rap break beat supporting some of the best angular synth hooks of the album, albeit hindered by an awfully audible keyboard choir patch. Reznor goes from screaming to whispering a very quiet, desperate lyric (“my sweet everything/I need someone to hold onto…”) for the outro. It’s kind of sweet.

“Down In It” - Here my inner 15 year-old self notes that even among ninnys, liking this track is kind of like loving a lame dog, considering that Reznor semi-raps and/or chants a vocally-distorted “Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day …nah na na nah na…” at the end. However, that still isn’t enough to make me turn up my nose.

“Sanctified” - Oh, for the bridge there’s some real porno sounding bass guitar that’s working against two samples: a melismatic monk’s prayer call and some confessional booth ovie-dialogue. Without a doubt a guilty pleasure. Lyrics: “Heaven’s just a rumor she’ll dispel, as she takes you through the nicest parts of hell.”

“Something I Can Never Have” - Reznor, truly a skilled pianist, finally breaks down and plays a stage piano for the first time in the record. Otherwise simple and pretty, the song features weird weight-room, weight-lifting (sexy?) breathing. Not sure how I feel about this. The part near the end to listen for: de-tuning and lifting background string sounds.

“Kinda I Want To” - There is some serious stereo panning going on here, alongside some wonderfully hooky but dated synths and programmed drum loop samples. Song scenario: Reznor runs across some lady he really shouldn’t, but really still wants to bed. Still, I’m putty.

“Sin” -This track pairs with “Kind of I Want To” thematically and serves as a response. Here Reznor sings about fisting and (obliquely) about dominate/submissive power relationships. You bet this earned the record a Parental Advisory label.

“That’s What I Get” - This one opens with video-game sounding synth noises, sounding kind of like what we’d get if the two slabs in Pong could talk to each other.

“The Only Time” - Can’t tell you how I like the sultry opening lyric. It’s too dirty. But the next lyric! Oh, wait for it! “Lay my hands on heaven and the sun and the moon and the stars while the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car,” directly followed by a Soul-sistah “ooh” sample. One word: AMAZING. I pity you who are not listening along. And while plenty of fun is being poked here, when Reznor does sing “This is the only time I really feel alive,” it isn’t hard to believe him.

“Ringfinger” – I recommend this song to you. It’s solid work. (Aside from a few painful lyrics at 1:32 and 2:41.) And there is plenty of Pixies-styled, cryptically Biblical dirty talk for any naysayer.

Conclusion: There is no way that I’m too-good for this record. I love it. Pretty much all of it. And I’m going to be dragging out my Closure live box set soon, so if you’d like to come over and watch it, please do. Oh, and also: Trent Reznor’s favorite color is green and he once had a dearly-loved golden retriever named Daisy Mae that got ripped apart by mad fans. Just so you know.

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Well, that’s sort of two words. Or maybe just one. Or maybe none at all. I’m really not sure. But, anyways, Tommy James and the Shondells found a way to hit the absolute apex of keeping it simple.

Maybe it was just being raised on radio legend Dick Biondi slurring through the band’s name as the sublimely sugary chords of “Hanky Panky” jangled out over the airwaves. Or maybe it’s just that “Crimson and Clover” is an utter masterpiece. The deep-sea reverb, the then-innovative phaser, and the mind-numbingly repetitive chorus are timeless. Joan Jett’s version may be even better, but its still that ultimately simple chorus that keeps the song a hit.

Riding a new wave of psychedelic pop (and probably a few psychotropic drugs) onto the radio in the early 60′s, Tommy James spawned 14 Top 40 singles over three years. They were stuck trying to follow in the huge pop footsteps of the Beatles, alongside The Lovin’ Spoonful, The Turtles and Paul Revere and the Raiders. I couldn’t say a bad word about any of them, but there’s something special about the Shondells.

The Best of Tommy James and the Shondells collects all the big ones. “Mirage” uses synth-orchestra flourishes that would make the composer of the Loveboat theme blush. “I Think We’re Alone Now” has a bassline like a rapid heartbeat that follows so well with the fist-pumping teenage love story. “Sweet Cherry Wine” sounds like it’s title implies: an embarrassingly saccharine ballad. Take one listen to “Crystal Blue Persuasion” and you’ll step back into Woodstock, full of good vibrations, head-bobbing tambourine and optimistic lyrics about a new day comin’.

This collection misses a few of the gems that Rhino’s Anthology catches years later (notably the ultimate free love anthem “Do Something To Me” and the super-considerate “(I’m) Taken”, a warning to would-be wooers). Unlike Rhino’s attempt, on the other hand, this one has no filler.

After a phase of trying to cover up my past attachment to oldies radio, I’m completely willing to embrace Tommy James. Note to Mr. James: this is more of an offer than a threat.

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Okay, first thing’s first. Let’s get our usual gripes with the band out of the way. Yes, frontman Stephan Jenkins’ laid back San Francisco drawl and slight lisp can get a tad grating, especially when he’s trying to be serious. Sure, their more profound lyrics are often interrupted with awkward attempts at being sexy (“I put it in with my animal ways…”) and cornball phrasing (Jenkins’ over-usage of the word “ya’ll” is laughable). But underneath the occasional white boy goofiness is a band that deserves credit for tackling darker subject matter while still being insanely catchy.

The biggest example of this is, of course, is their self-titled 1997 debut that managed to crank out-count ‘em-six hits. Nearly half of the album was widely circulated on mainstream rock radio, thanks to their breakout track, “Semi-Charmed Life”.  Love it or hate it, people were so ensnared in the sticky bubblegum of its “doo-doo-doo-doo” chorus that they failed to realize the song was about the crystal meth scene in San Francisco. Does anyone else remember it being played in the trailer for The Tigger Movie?

Another thing that set the album apart from Yourself Or Someone Like You or any other alt rock debut of the time was the guitar work of Kevin Cadogan. A student of the legendary Joe Satriani, Cadogan let his guitar bend, tweak, sooth, and chirp, riding the Richter scale between bursts of crunchy power pop (“The Burning Man”), ghostly reverberation (“Narcolepsy”), and straight up soloing (“Graduate”).  And like any staple radio rock band, Third Eye Blind could nail the acoustic ballad, only with an explosion of celebratory bombast at the end.  Closer “God of Wine” starts off as introspective moper, showcasing only Jenkins’ hushed whisper and acoustic guitar as he laments people who party too much, before expanding its sound and subject matter.  Once the rest of the band kicks in, the song becomes a cosmic pastiche, laden with images of crumbling bedrooms and Bacchus. Everything comes crashing down in an alcoholic apocalypse.

The band’s second album, Blue, would continue Jenkins’ obsession with the darker side of space. From its glowing, planetary album cover to its tripped out loop effects, “Blue” expanded Third Eye Blind’s sound like a black hole, even if it wasn’t as immediately catchy as its predecessor.  However, the hooks were (and still are) there. “Never Let You Go” may have unashamedly aped The Cars, but it remains quite possibly the catchiest thing the band has ever written. Most of the other tracks (with the exception of terse pop punk opener “Anything”) are near mini opuses, genre-shifting tunes that are a bit harder to sift through, but rewarding for the patient listener. Songs like “Wounded” and “Deep Inside Of You” begin as ethereal sonar broadcasts before ascending to straightforward radio rock. It may be big and loud, but it has a bit of sophistication to it from being buried under a fractured soundscape. This aesthetic is stretched even further on “Camouflage”, a surreal series of Jenkins scatting, wooping, and yipping against an echoing backdrop of tunnel guitar. Granted, half of the time he sounds like Jar-Jar Binks, but the band deserves credit for experimenting in ways that none of their peers were doing at the time. Blue went on to sell over two million copies, only a third of Third Eye Blind, but by no means a failure. However, these dwindling numbers would continue with the band’s final release Out Of The Vein.

Released in 2003, Out Of The Vein came out at a time when many people had forgotten about the band. A four year gap is a long waiting period for an arena rock outfit, and although sales were predictably meager, Out Of The Vein has aged surprisingly well. Lyrically, it’s the band’s most consistent and successful record (with the exception of the Fred Durst-produced “Misfits”) largely due to the fact that the content revolves around Jenkins’ failed relationship with Charlize Theron. Tracks like “Faster” and “Blinded” reflect his guilty yearning for her on an intimate scope, nailing the stalker feeling one gets following a nasty breakup. “Blinded” is the band’s “Every Breath You Take”, detailing voyeuristic heartache without sounding creepy.

Out Of The Vein’s ultimate weakness is the departure of Cadogan, who left the band in the midst of touring for Blue. The album’s guitar work doesn’t flex as much, often settling for plodding power chords instead of cosmic soloing and atmosphere. Still, Out Of The Vein remains a solid listen, showcasing a band who had managed to settle down quite nicely.

According to Jenkins, the band’s next album, Ursa Major, is set for an early 2009 release. It’s hard to say how successful it will be, especially after taking a six year break. Even more worrisome are Jenkins’ repeated promises that the album will be “more political.” Anyone unfortunate enough to watch his horribly dumbed down Obama support speeches on You Tube will want to run for the hills. I love Obama as much as the next guy, but Jenkins should stick to what he knows best: slightly twisted lyrics backed by cavernous, yet sugary guitars.  So please, Stephan, rehire Cadogan and take us back to 1997.  These days, it’s the most relevant thing an arena rock band can do.

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So needless to say, the opportunity of seeing the Thursday and Thrice co-headlining show that year was a particular exciting thing. Little did I know however, that by night’s end, it was the opening band and its invigorating thirty-minute set that left me the most speecheless. Between wild-haired Claudio Sanchez and company’s forceful playing to the contrasting high-pitched voice emanated over the speakers, Coheed and Cambria’s performance that night proved to be one of the most fascinating things I had ever witnessed.

The following morning I rushed out and purchased a copy of the New York outfit’s debut album from a couple of years before, The Second Stage Turbine Blade. While mere months away from the release of Good Apollo, I’m Burning Star IV, Volume One and the first hints of MTV airtime, at the time, Coheed hadn’t really caught on yet, allowing me couple of months of bliss before the eventual success and imminent backlash would ensue.

Coheed and Cambria has an intriguing history. They announced early on that their four albums would culminate in one comprehensive story, but that the first album would actually be the second installment in the story. As fans, we tried to dissect the complexities of the galactic tale, but didn’t really know what the hell the songs were about. Still, the first time I heard “Time Consumer”, I was hooked. It was unlike anything I’d heard before. (The Rush comparisons fell on deaf ears because I didn’t know who they were.) I would listen to the album over and over, tabulating new names of characters and how they were related to one another, trying to figure out the story for myself.

“Devil in Jersey City” was the relative hit, being the most fast-paced and radio-friendly song on the album. It pales in comparison, though, to some of the best songs Coheed have ever written, including “Neverender” and “Everything Evil.” The latter builds from a simplistic riff into a powerful epic, a result that Coheed didn’t accomplish on its two most recent records. In between all of the crazy science-fiction stuff, there are some universal lyrical gems that deeply resonated with me: “In graver mistakes, Dear Mom and Dad, I write you in this letter that states (I’ll be moving on). When the new days begun forget your son when he’s out on his own.”

With a divisive voice, Sanchez managed to alienate a good portion of the resentful radio-rock crowd and sustained mockery from the hipsters, almost deservedly so. The group’s last two albums just fail to incorporate any of the grit and raw power displayed on its first effort. Instead, they wanted to appeal to MTV and began releasing lazy music.

I never bothered to finish deciphering the story. And I can’t even say that I’ve put Second Stage Turbine Blade on my record player recently. But I do remember how the album used to make me feel and how much time I devoted to them. I even contemplated tattooing the keywork from the second album on my arm. Even with new experiences and more exposure to great music, I keep a devout appreciation for this album. I can’t help but consider it a guilty pleasure.

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The humble beginnings of Britpop, before Liam Gallagher anointed himself the rising phoenix from the ashes of John Lennon, can be heard on tracks like “Made Of Stone”, “This Is The One”, and “I Am The Resurrection”. They were influenced by the post-punk scene in Manchester, but their sound isn’t as dark, nor nearly as minimal. If you like Oasis, they liked The Stone Roses. If you hate Oasis, The Stone Roses were much, much better.

I recommend taking this album as an album and listening to it from beginning to end, but that said, almost every track can stand up on its own. I love the bass intro on “I Wanna Be Adored”; “She Bangs The Drums” is a good, solid 80s dance song; and I can’t not sing along to “Made Of Stone”–even though I finally cared to notice what it’s about. Google those lyrics, man, seriously.

I do attribute my extreme fondness for this album partly to the fact that it was the soundtrack to my first real time away from home. I was alone on a long train ride with nothing but a book and a discman. I listened to “Waterfall” with my cheek stuck to the window; I bounced through the traincars to “Fools Gold”. But honestly, years later and sedentary, I can say that it’s one of those “journey” albums whether or not you take it on the road.

Nowadays, the Roses are no more. Ian Brown does his own thing. John Squire has The Seahorses. You might know Mani from Primal Scream. And Reni. . . what’s up with Reni these days? All I know is, nearly 20 years later, The Stone Roses remains a gem.

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In 1996, the Spice Girls released their hit single “Wannabe” which was a huge success. I was ten years old. When I heard this song on the radio, I remember being filled with so much excitement I almost burst. From that day on, I drove my mom nuts singing, “So tell me what you want/what you really really want/I wanna I wanna really/really really wanna zigazig ha.” Honestly now, I still have no idea what they really meant lyrically here, but in ’96 I was just caught up in the fun of it all. And so was everyone else. The Spice Girls were all the rave and critics even compared their success to of all people, The Beatles.

In the mid-90′s the Spice Girls were everywhere. They even had little vending machines where you could get Spice Girls stickers for a quarter. Of course the girls were always dolled up in their ridiculous, but sexy outfits and I remember thinking to myself “Wow, they are so beautiful.” I wanted to be just like them. So yeah the Spice Girls became sort of a role model for me, which can’t be all that surprising because well every 10 year old girl wants to grow up and be pretty, it’s like all we thought about. Then they released the video for their second single “Say You’ll Be There.” And you thought I was obsessed before? Sporty spice had freaking ninja stars and Ginger spice was shooting bottles with a laser gun! How cool is that! At this point I was so in love with the Spice Girls I couldn’t see myself living without them.

A year later the Spice Girls put out their second album, Spice World, which was also extremely successful. Then in 1998, Ginger Spice left the band. I remember being so depressed that day, because Ginger was the star of the group. The Spice Girls split up a couple years later to pursue solo careers after releasing Forever, without Ginger, which turned out to be a major flop. And so the Spice Girl phenomena ended; but not for me.

Spice may have taken the backseat for awhile as I grew up, but it was always there. After a little hiatus, I’d pop it back in and immediately wonder why I hadn’t been listening to it more often. They are just so much fun! The whole album is filled with such high-energy it makes you want to get up and dance and shout out loud without a care in the world. It’s like being a kid all over again.

A large majority of the songs are about relationships and hookups, but the way they talk about them just cracks me up. Take “Naked” for example, the entire chorus features (is it Baby Spice?) bellowing out “Naked” over and over again. The song is about wanting to open up and share your feelings, but the way they yell “Naked” at you just makes me giggle. That’s probably the 3^rd grader in me, but I dare you to listen to it and not laugh. The album also features songs like “Who Do You Think You Are” and “If You Can’t Dance” which are quintessential 90′s. They basically create a contemporary disco and you have no choice but to get up a groove with it.

It’s hard to say why I like this album as much as I do. The music is extremely catchy and uplifting, but it’s nothing innovative, right? Sure the Spice Girls accomplished more than any girl band ever before and at the time they were the most well known individuals since John, Paul, George and Ringo, but that doesn’t change the fact that they fed us radio pop. Radio pop aside; I’m quite convinced that if anyone sat down and listened to the whole album, they’d realize just how entertaining Spice can be. So if you are looking for a care free night at home, but you still want to wear your dancing shoes pop in Spice and see where it takes you. You might even have a little fun yourself.

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It was late on a full moon night when this album came up on that same friend’s car stereo and much to my amazement, almost a decade after having seen Blink-182, she was able to reenact the record word for word. She is not alone in this. At every song break you can hear the loud piercing squeals from the adolescent audience. “You just can’t beat the enthusiasm of a teenage girl,” she said as we rolled into a late night drive through. Recorded on November 4, 1999 in San Francisco, this is the now split trio’s only live album. Just a million copies were made when it was finally released almost a year later on November 7, 2000, and has since continued to be a valued piece for any Blink fans collection.

The set list is made up of songs from the band’s first three studio albums, Cheshire Cat, Dude Ranch, and Enema of the State, with an emphasis on the latter given that it was just released. At 49 tracks long, its about as ridiculous as live recordings come, combining their lightning fast playing with their classic on stage banter that made all the girls scream, and all the parents that bought the tickets blush. No dad wants to hear his daughter get excited over fellatio. Not all the album is music, however. Twenty-nine of those tracks are part of a collective known as “Words of Wisdom” and include an appearance by Satan (Tom DeLong with a voice changer), and more blow-job and sex jokes than you can shake a stick at.

In the timeless teenage tradition of offending parents and pushing the boundaries, the live recording gives us the first appearance of their now infamously immature songs “Family Reunion”, “Blow Job”, and “The Country Song”.  At no longer than one minute, each one of these songs expand George Carlin’s seven words you can’t say to about a dozen or more, and end with the incest and mother “loving” that Blink-182 does so well. Having been taped right before their big explosion into the mainstream, the record captures perfectly who Blink-182 were musically, and antics a side, the performance is fun and energetic, providing anyone who were fans of the band with a wonderful dose of nostalgia, and probably the only highlight of their middle school years. The record also includes the bands hits “All the Small Things”, “Dammit”, and the suicidal anthem “Adam’s Song”. If you yourself were not into the band, you know someone who was, and the tour that this recording is from sold out many large venues for a good reason. They knew how to write catchy punk rock with more on stage energy than I have seen to date.

Since the break up of the band in 2005, the members have gone on with their more “grown up” side projects such as the Warped Tour headliner Angels and Airwaves, as well as +44. With the end of this band came an end to the rambunctious and mischievous pop punk that they poured into the suburban headphones of teenage Americana at the turn of the millennium. The fans have grown up and moved on, but whenever this record sneaks through the shuffle, you can’t help but get excited and ask, “What’s my age again?”

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My god, I even remember the day I bought the album. My father and my brother drove me over to Blockbuster Music, yes Blockbuster Music if anybody can remember that far back, where we would pick up various artists every other week. Yes, I’m a child of divorce (along with 75% of America) and consumerism tied together whatever family bond we had left. Without getting too far off the subject, there I would usually walk around aimlessly, waiting for my brother or my father to finish browsing the endless walls of entertainment. But that week, I knew exactly what I wanted. I knew I wanted that beautiful blonde in that shiny red dress in my hands. I knew I wanted that ever so poppy song “I’m Just a Girl”, which is probably not the finest of my moments.

That’s how it all started folks. That’s what brought me here to this day, from interviews with Menomena to Radiohead concert reviews, it was all thanks to No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom. Of course, I had the welcoming party of bands like The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Blood Sweat and Tears, and The Police, as well. But it always comes back to No Doubt. Nonetheless, I cherished this album for the sole reason that it was the first album I ever bought on my own and I was very proud of it. Take into consideration I was only five years old and twenty bucks for a CD was a big deal to me.

Now let’s put some facts down on the table. Gwen Stefani is one of the most iconic singers of the twenty-first century and I would even go so far as to say, drum roll please, that she is the closest thing my generation will have to Madonna. Her voice is distinct and that’s immediately what did it for me. I remember hearing “Spiderwebs” constantly on the radio, in the car with my mother, and getting goosebumps whenever the chorus would kick in, hearing her beautiful and slender voice cue up and down. It would send shivers down my spine. Not to mention, her semi angry scowl right after. With lyrics like “Sorry I’m not home right now/ I’m walking into spider webs/ So leave a message and I’ll call you back”, it’s hard to call the nineties anything else but classic.

It didn’t stop at “Spiderwebs” for me either (one would hope not, given it’s the first track on the album);instead, everything was golden, especially songs “Sixteen” and the ever popular single, “Don’t Speak.” I remember feeling as if I was listening to something tainted and forbidden, hearing that sloppy and overly distorted bass accompanied with a high pitched 80′s-like guitar. It was all so new to me, so different. To be honest, I would listen to this album everyday and even after thirteen years, it still sounds new to me.

Say what you will. Tell me I have no taste in music, how lame I am for listening to such a record. I could care less, honestly. I will never have a different view of No Doubt. While many will shun them for their work on Rock Steady, (and rightfully so, I guess), I will never sway away from my opinion. This is a band that did it for me and I am glad to have them among my collection of artists.

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Limp Bizkit’s sophomore (and some might argue “sophomoric”) guest-laden disasterpiece, Significant Other, was released in June of 1999; by the onslaught of “Nookie” on terrestrial modern rock FM stations, every male student I knew in school owned a red Yankees fitted cap, and if that wasn’t enough for labels, they’d likely chant the chorus in a now-defunct high school smoking section. Recently, I’ve come across that same album on cassette, only to pop it in with mild hesitation, soon after. My 14-year-old self was unleashed from its audible time capsule, becoming the catalyst for this Guilty Pleasure confession.

I am a fan. Like it, or not.

It amazes me how much boasting Fred Durst actually did on this album, how much lame machismo he conveyed. Considering his has-been status, his position of not being taken all that seriously these days, it’s somewhat funny. Strangely, all the same, one cannot deny the effectively catchy (if not occasionally cheesy) lyrics on Significant Other. The lyrics to every song have the current-events validity of a shoddy doodle from the back-page of a worn composition notebook, yet banging my head on Wes Borland’s riffs comes all-natural (as does shouting along, karaoke-style).

Novelty worth in a decade-old scuffed package, Limp Bizkit had some stupidly fun music, despite Durst’s absurd rantings about life on the mean streets of Jacksonville, Florida (“Trust?”), being a walking ATM (“I’m Broke”), spitefully reminding an ex-girlfriend that her cheatin’ ass was only worth sex to him anyway (please, you know what song that is). Some of these tunes were the rap-rock equivalents of Steve Urkel’s catchphrase: “I don’t have to take this. I’m going home.”

Only Limp Bizkit could churn out hit after manufactured hit about everything from being “worth more than” sex to name-dropping half the United States. My favorite song to date off of this album is still, by far, “N 2 Gether Now” — namely because, unlike Fred, I respect Method Man’s talent as an established rapper. Another being that stupid-ass music video with Pauly Shore as the pizza delivery guy, and Durst versus Meth in a sword fight over the remote control. Seriously, I ask myself often how LB even got him on the track to begin with. It’s understood that Durst and KoRn’s Jonathan Davis had a standing union as fellows in the same musical genre of sorts, but where does Method Man come in? Would he do it again today, should Limp Bizkit attempt another guest-heavy pop record?

During the past nine years, I’ve seen this album in clearance racks across the country; there are those like myself who still find charm in such a piece of nostalgic memorabilia, but moreover, I am a self-professed fan of that era in music. Fact is, somewhere deep down in our minds, we all like to scream “you can take that cookie, and stick it up your…” in the car when no one’s around. Admit it, for they say that’s the first step to recovery.

Limp Bizkit’s “N 2 Gether Now”

However, Frusciante’s departure in 1992 left RHCP in limbo. They scrambled to complete their tour obligations with Arik Marshall, but when the tour ended, the remaining Peppers returned to California to search for yet another new guitarist. Heroin had broken the band up before when guitarist Hillel Slovak died in 1988, now yet another band mate was leaving due to the drug, albeit on his own terms. Saddened by Frusciante’s departure, RHCP began holding open auditions for a replacement, yet no worthy guitarists were found. With the recent breakup of Jane’s Addiction, Chad Smith suggested that Dave Navarro be called in for a jam session. Immediately the four musicians clicked and a decision was made to announce Navarro as Frusciante’s replacement.

One Hot Minute was recorded between June 1994 and June 1995. Immediately the album received mixed reviews and fans were separated. While BSSM sold nearly 7 million copies in the States alone, One Hot Minute failed to meet expectations peaking at #4 on the Billboard Chart. Many fans hated the follow up because it lacked the funk and sexual energy that made BSSM one of the greatest albums ever, which is true. Navarro’s guitar parts changed RHCP from a sexy funk band to an angry, depressed, metal-funk band. However, Navarro should not be the only one to blame for this transformation. Kiedis had slipped back into his heroin addiction during the One Hot Minute sessions; therefore, his lyrics on One Hot Minute dealt mostly with drug influenced aggression.

Tracks such as “Warped,” “Deep Kick,” and “One Big Mob” were not well received by fans for their depressing themes. While the musical compositions were found to be too aggressive, it was the music video to “Warped” which pushed RHCP’s fan base even further away. A kiss from Kiedis to Navarro disgusted most of RHCP’s male college fan base, One Hot Minute was doomed after that famous lip lock. Kiedis and Navarro were labelled as homosexuals by much of their male audience, yet their problems were deeper than their sexuality. Both addicted to heroin, the two began giving lackluster live performances; RHCP were being torn into pieces.

Fast forward to present day. Nowadays One Hot Minute is usually found in record stores amongst other $9.99 unwanted albums. For those RHCP fans who never bothered to listen to One Hot Minute because of ‘the kiss’ or Navarro’s presence, do yourself a favour and listen to this magnificent album front to back. By the Way was never judged for being too soft, so why should One Hot Minute be judged for being too heavy? Sure Navarro’s guitar is strikingly different than Frusciante’s, but Flea’s rip roaring bass funk is still there alongside Smith’s furious rhythm. For too long, One Hot Minute has been labeled by its popular singles: “Aeroplane” and “My Friends.”

People, the time has come to temporarily brush BSSM, Californication and Mother’s Milk aside , take up your One Hot Minute and listen to “Tearjerker,” “One Big Mob, ” “Coffee Shop,” and “Walkabout.” Contrary to popular belief this is a complete and amazing album, from the Kurt Cobain memoriam “Tearjerker” to the stellar bass, guitar, and drums on all of the aforementioned tracks. Not to mention the sickening funk screams of “Falling Into Grace,” a personal favourite. Although heroin took hold of Kiedis during this era, many of these tracks are still ripe with his signature lyrical content. Contrary to the critics and fans of the 90s, traditional RHCP themes of groovy funk, hypnotizing lyrics, and foot stomping drums are still evident.

Do not doubt the musical content of One Hot Minute, for it truly is one of the greatest albums produced in the 90s. Most RHCP fans have forgotten about it. Since the return of Frusciante RHCP have vaulted to the world’s musical elite with Californication, By the Way, and Stadium Arcadium. While those albums are all fantastic in their own right, One Hot Minute provides listeners with different themes and structures which are not found in any of those post-Navarro albums. Fear not RHCP fans, it is okay to listen to One Hot Minute now, you won’t be labeled a traitor (or a homosexual, for that matter). So search the deep dark corners of your iPod (or your CD collection), most of us still own One Hot Minute and don’t even know it.

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