Songs on Repeat: I'm Awake, At Last, Awake

It's weird writing a music post on a day like today, but since I don't actually listen to Michael Jackson on repeat (sorry, big guy), I don't feel too qualified to talk about his impact on my life, which is limited mainly to several disastrous attempts at moonwalking and being freaked out in general by his nose.

I will say one thing, however. The man could dance.

Moving on.

I was going to start off with something along the lines of "there are few songs that make me want to burst into spontaneous dancing," but this is not true. There are hundreds of songs that make me want to bust a move on subway platforms and such, but Bishop Allen's "Rain" is high at the top of that list.



Obviously, that lovely little bongo-drum-thing going on in the background has a lot to do with the whole dancing thing, but I am embarrassingly obsessed with Bishop Allen for a reason, and that's largely because all of their songs have a very carpe-diem kind of quality to them. It's why I play them when I'm trying to wake up in the morning and when I'm heading out to random indie shindigs and when I'm driving with the express purpose of getting lost. More than almost any other band I know, they manage to capture the sort of excited uncertainty that comes with being young and broke and in the middle of a massive city, which is more or less my summer right now. In short: well done, boys.

Songs on Repeat: Had A Lot of Things to Say

Like many children who grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I have spent most of my life relentlessly pretending that I actually live within the city limits, because trying to explain to people that you live in a town that is too small to possess a zip code is just too depressing.

With anyone who lives outside the Philly area, this usually works. But good luck trying to fake street cred in State College, where at least half the population is also trying to pretend they're from my gleaming metropolis.

Thus, the fact that I will actually be living in a city this summer -- I have an internship with MSNBC in New York -- makes me ridiculously, irrationally excited, to the point where I have accumulated a small playlist of songs that remind me of my impending summer adventures.

This includes:
- Pretty much every song ever written by Bishop Allen, for no apparent reason
- "Song for Myla Goldberg," by the Decemberists, which includes the admittedly blindingly obvious line "I know New York, I need New York, I know I need unique New York"
- "Gates of the Old City," by Looker, which reminds my former roommate Heather of Mary-Kate and Ashley and reminds me of Bishop Allen. Double win.
- "You Can't Hurry Love," by the Concretes, which readers of this blog will remember from a past Songs on Repeat post
- This song:



I have no idea why this particular song ("Wires," by Jason Schwartzman's solo effort Coconut Records) makes me think of dashing around New York, but it does. And yes, the band is another gimmicky project of an actor-turned-musician, which usually frightens me (see: Duff, Hilary), but Coconut Records has proven to be appropriately indie enough for me so far.

And there's no denying that "Wires" is catchy as hell, at least in my book. After all, it features punchy guitar chords and a xylophone, which is pretty much all I require of a song. There's also a great part that involves what I think is a Wurlitzer towards the end where everything just sort of soars upwards, and it's lovely. So: cheers for this song, and for New York, where I will be blogging from the Village in t-minus nine days. Score.

Quick blog note: Next up will likely be a LOST review, which I haven't posted yet because I am still attempting to wrap my head around the season finale, which was mindblowing and brilliant and almost made me cry. Stay tuned.

Songs on Repeat: Love Ain't Far

As much as I hate to admit it, I am a secret Motown junkie. I adore the Supremes, I am a sucker for the Temptations, and Martha Reeves is one of my personal heroes.

I attribute this mild obsession to something akin to Stockholm syndrome — back in the day, I rode an hour-and-a-half-long bus to high school every morning, and my bus driver, Socks (who is another story entirely), insisted on playing our local "oldies" station, Sunny 104.5, over the bus radio. At full volume. For the entire ride. After months of attempting to fight the powers that be (earmuffs, headphones, and various pleas to turn down the music proved futile), I gave in. I can pretty much sing the entire Sunny 104.5 repertoire from memory now, which is kind of pathetic.

Thus, when I found a song called "You Can't Hurry Love" by a Swedish band called the Concretes, I went in expecting some indie cover of the Supremes' hit. I couldn't have been farther from the truth.



There is no reason, really, why I should enjoy this song as much as I do. It has about three lyrics, it's over in two minutes, and it's mildly repetitive. But it's catchy as hell, man, and as far as my repeat songs go, that's usually all that matters.

Of course, now that I've spent several paragraphs waffling about my minor Motown obsession, I feel I should include a video of The Supremes' seminal "You Can't Hurry Love" as well.

Songs on Repeat: Sun Been Down for Days

At approximately 36 seconds into Wilco's inimitable "Hummingbird," there's this awesome little cello part that gets me every. single. time. It's only a few measures long, but it's absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes I just play the first minute or so over and again, because I am admittedly kind of pathetic.

Oren Lavie's "Her Morning Elegance" features a little cello riff early on, too. And maybe I'm just a sucker for what is arguably the best instrument ever (I haven't picked mine up in two years, but I'm not ready to say I used to play it just yet), because iTunes informs me that I have played this song 30 times since Sunday night, and that's not counting the play count on my iPod.

Usually my repeat songs of the week are sort of pleasant little things that I decide to start out my mornings with, but this one's different. It's minimal as anything -- those fantastic cello sections nearly drown out the muted organ and xylophone in the background -- but it's one of those songs that just works. I can't explain it.

Also, the music video is pretty much one of the most adorable things I've ever seen. It's probably one of the reasons I can't stop listening to the song.

Songs on Repeat: America Can't Say No

Note: Every week or so, I find a song that I listen to nonstop, on loop, for at least a day. It is pathetic, but it's my repeat song of the week, and I'll be writing about it each Thursday. Cheers.

I've been gearing myself up for the Decemberists' latest album, The Hazards of Love, by listening to old Decemberists songs pretty much nonstop. On the off chance that the album is absolutely terrible (the reviews are starting to worry me), I figure that I can still comfort myself with the orphans, chimney sweeps and starcrossed lovers that are standard Decemberists fare.

"16 Military Wives" was playing on loop on my iPod today, and it's a little different from the rest of the band's sea-shanty-packed catalogue -- it's a protest song, and probably the most upbeat of its kind that I've ever heard. It's snarky, timely, and it features a lot of indie-rock god and Decemberists frontman Colin Meloy warbling, which pretty much seals the deal for me:

Fifteen celebrity minds
Leading their fifteen sordid, wretched, checkered lives
Will they find the solution in time,
Using their fifteen, pristine, moderate liberal minds?

Golden.

When I went to see the Decemberists at the Electric Factory in Philly this past November (by far my favorite venue in the world), they played this -- and then led the crowd in a chant of "Yes We Can!" It was a week after the election, and it was brilliant.

Also, it has the best music video in the history of ever: