Last Tuesday night I received a text from an ex that flipped my tummy and blackened my heart. It was, what I call, a “bum out” text. In an attempt to baptize myself of said bummer, I put on my super cool vibrams that NO ONE ever makes fun of me for wearing. EVER. I loaded my shuffle with some moody emo tracks, and took to the flip-a-flap of concrete. I had been running for about an hour when I came across the Riverside basketball courts. The lights were on and one lone figure was throwing up shots waiting for the ball to teeter left or right, in or out. I slowed my pace to a walk, and figured what the hell?

“You up for a game of horse?” I asked the stranger.

He shrugged, “Sure.” Then looked at my feet, “Nice shoes.” Goddamned vibrams! We shot around for an hour and proved that New York City is the smallest biggest world in the spider web of mutual friends we intertwined. The strangers name was Aaron Strand, a blues guitarist. He met his wayward singer working at once upon a time hot spot The Box, on the Lower East Side. He and Elinor dated for a little while, then recognized their shared energy was better suited for matters outside the boudoir and in a live space. They started writing music and thus The Manhattan Cartel was born. He cited classic rock and blues guitarists as his inspiration, and early Eminem as their lyrical muse. We talked about how creating and making art needs to be visualized like a muscle you work out. If you want to get bigger, better, you have to practice every fucking day. So when he told me they had an upcoming show at Arlene’s Grocery Store, I was excited to see The Manhattan Cartel flex.

That came out wrong…

Dressed in a zombie ballerina’s tutu, a black tube top that covers less than most lingerie, spiked fuck me pumps and a hair do that can only be described as “walk of shame,” Elinor Arwyn is not an easy figure to dismiss. Her stick-like frame and electric blue eyes magnetize her command over the crowd. She has a hoarse voice and a cabaret performance, often winking, smiling and talking to the audience. Aaron plays the Silent Bob of the duo, keeping it quiet, wearing the digs of an old school bluesier: wool jacket and pants, black boots, a plaid button down and a fedora with two cigarettes under the ribbon. The show comes off as something between performance art, rock n’ roll and lounge singing. They aren’t afraid to make mistakes, and as if teaching themselves to do better, they’ll draw attention to it. Make a mental note. When Elinor’s leg gets wrapped around a mic chord, and she almost trips, she snaps her leg up, pulls the chord and yells, “I’M GONNA KEEP SINGING!” Which elicits a gaggle of applause from the audience. Strand has most certainly been practicing, working his fingers up and down the neck like a boy on fire. The two work well off each other, clearly enjoying the feeling. The experience. Elinor tells the audience that they played Rikers last week, so if the crowd doesn’t like the music “I got homies in jail. And they’re gonna get out!” The set is made up of mostly original songs, laid on the backbone of blues: drinking, smoking and sex. The battle of good and evil worked its way in, as they finished the gig with a cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

For more info on The Manhattan Cartel check out their website: http://www.themanhattancartel.com/.

Billy Idol

“Eyes Without A Face,” by Billy Idol: Heard this gem over the weekend and have not stopped looping it. I’ve stood around many a pretty girl and sang eyes without a face, and they look at me like I’m a creep who may or may not wants to make button puppet faces out of them. No comment. Also the name of a creepy old black and white flick.

“Kiss Me Deadly,” by Generation X: If you’re going on a Billy Idol kick you can’t forget this ballad. Probably the best punk rock love song, with cheesy John Hughes heart ever. This started emo music ladies and gents, or maybe that was Leonard Cohen? Also, the name of a creepy old black and white flick.

“Smoke and Mirrors,” by The Magnetic Fields: If Depeche Mode were still kind of terrifying and sexual today, they’d be The Magnetic Fields. Slow droning voices over a synth beat turn me on. There . . . I said it. I don’t care who knows it either.

“Karen’s Song,” by The Manhattan Cartel: These bluesy kids are gonna be playing Arlene’s Grocery tonight. Well worth checking out. If you don’t, I will, and I’ll have the write up for you tomorrow. And you’ll feel stupid for having missed it. Idiot.

“Sweet Thing,” by Van Morrison: The reminder of this song was the best part of The Five-Year Engagement. Jesus Christ, 2 hours and 30 minutes of: let’s push the wedding back. I love you. I hate you. Let’s push it back. Ya let me down Jason. You let the tribe down…

“Like A Friend,” by Pulp: This is the only band anyone’s been talking about for weeks, and yet they never talk about this phenomenal song. Think Ethan Hawke chasing after Gwyneth Paltrow circa 1998. Black clothing. Chalk drawings. A weird De Niro cameo? Great Expectations.

“When A Woman Loves,” by R. Kelly: R. Kelly track of the week. Because there always should be one. Anyone out there going on his Love Letter cruise?

“Guilty Conscious,” by Eminem & Dr. Dre: I’ve been listening to Dre 2001 a lot lately. It got mentioned in a group sometime recently and I dove Dre first into it. This track might be the last time I was really surprised by rap, and by a music video. One of the best of the best.

“West End Girls,” by Pet Shop Boys: If you were west of 6th Avenue this weekend, you know what those Pet Shop Boys are ripping and rapping about. Don’t give them sass, knives and razors in their four-inch boots buuuuuddy.

“She Drives Me Crazy,” by Five Young Cannibals: Is there a better band name out there? I’m skeptical. It’s unfortunate they kicked the can after this one-hit Prince rip off… wonder? By the by, the lead singer totally looks like olympic decathlete Bryan Clay.

The Thompson Twins.

There’s always a random assortment of tracks making their way through my little Genius contraption, ahhh how it knows me so well. I look forward to the day the Genius will be able to tell me what I want to eat and Siri can run out and get it. I’m hoping perhaps I might be able to act as your Genius this week and let you in on some of the oldies, the newbies and the not so newbie oldies that’ll be flowing through my speakers the whole week through.

“Talk About the Past,” by The Wake: This is one of those songs you hear and think to yourself, “Why haven’t I heard this before? Why haven’t I been listening to this for the last 23 years of my life?” It might have had something to do with the fact that this is the perfect gray day track. Haunting in that beautiful new wave kind of way.

“It’s Hard to Be an Egg,” by John Dowie: Super hard track to find (unless you have iTunes), but YouTube doesn’t have it except this weird tiger beat track below. Try digging on it, but definitely find the John Dowie track, it’ll make you want to eat breakfast all day.

“Messidor,” by Durutti Column: Another perfect moody track. All instrumental, so reserve for dinner party use. Play only after everyone is stuffed and sitting around questioning their existence. It’s one of those…

“Glass (2007 Remastered),” by Joy Division: You know it. We know it. Go back and learn some more child.

“Getting Away With It,” by Electronic: Eerily sounds a great deal like Psychedelic Furs’ “Love My Way,” but can you really complain about that? But seriously… They really kind of ripped it off. A lot. But check out the music video, it’s like a peak inside the mind of Jack Nicholson’s Joker.

“What Is Love,” by Howard Jones: It’s a great question, right? In my opinion love is a really ripe pickle. Jones takes the cynical stance, “Does anyone love anyone, anyway?”

“Hold Me Now,” by The Thompson Twins: Look it was raining all weekend, cut me a break. But how good is this song. The tinkling of a keyboard in the beginning. The wind up doll sound effects. How cracked out was the writer of this song?

“Falsetto,” by The-Dream: This song was weirdly stuck in my head all week. For a while I thought it was Rick Ross’ “Aston Martin Music,” but realized soon enough that it was just too falsetto to be Big Boi Ross.

“Freaky In The Club,” by R. Kelly: With the release of Kelly’s latest literalli (my word for his literal musical genius) “Shut Up,” I’ve been forced to work through his trackography of brilliance.

“(Ain’t That) Good News,” by Sam Cooke: Put a smile on your face.

The Band's s Levon Helm.

If you’re a famous person you better be ducking your head… unless you’re Lindsay Lohan, any of the Kardashians or a household of “Housewives,” then please, go for a walk on a friggin’ lightning rod. Ladies and gentlemen, one of the more exciting time capsules of our time is taking place right now, the trifecta of celebrity deaths! Now I know what you’re thinking, “Oh my god that’s totally insensitive of him.” Yeah. It is. It’s super insensitive. But wasn’t your first response when Michael Jackson died, “F-ck off!” Or did you skip that and go straight to texting everyone in your phonebook, hoping you’d be the initial barer of bad news. We live in the 21st century and everything is social media saturated so we understand that something is wrong, but it just sort of melts into the whites of our eyes as we tap, tap, tap away, reading all the obituaries we can find on google news. Take a seat to your left.

So, for those of you who don’t know, Dick Clark did not outlast the cockroaches. In fact he didn’t even out last you. He kicked the jukebox and gave into that big ol’ dance floor in the sky. So let’s mark this down, we’re going to count Dick Clark as a TV personality for this category. I’m aware he was originally a concert promoter, and that’s what gained him much of his fame, but for the trifecta, that does us no good. Kaput. TV personality.

We have one TV personality and then we’ve got Levon Helm. “Who’s Levon Helm, Noah?” Shave your face, smack it a few times and then go die. Levon Helm was the man behind the sticks, the jamming helm of The Band. “Oh you mean, like, the band that Martin Scorsese made that totally rockin’ doc about?” Yes, that band. THE BAND. Clearly, he goes down in the books as a musician, which is why Dick Clark goes down as a TV personality. We got our Farrah Fawcett in the form of Dick Clark (I had a poster of him over my bed as a young kid) and we have our Michael Jackson in the form of Levon Helm.

Now, because these two old timers are a little “outdated,” I’m gonna have to say that the last member of the trio to die is gonna be super random. It’ll be someone you didn’t even know was alive still. Maybe Don Rickles. Wait, is Don Rickles still a live? Or it could be a random politico from the 80’s Dan Quayle is still alive. He’s only 65, but he killed Bush senior’s presidency, so maybe it’s time for someone to kill him. A mid-80’s star, or early 70’s king could OD on some blow this weekend. That dude from “The Blue Lagoon,” was swimming around reality television for a while. He did that phenomenal show hosted by Scott Baio, “Confessions Of A Teen Idol.” I’ve never wept so much in my life watching those raisin wrinkled men talk about the heyday of their lives. ANYONE from that show could die. In fact, I’m going to hedge my bets on one of their heads. They made me cry once, one of them is gonna make me cry again soon enough.

There’s also something I haven’t yet factored into this debate. Could these two specters be following the trifecta that Whitney Houston started? Readers… What do you think? Use the comment board below and tell us who you think is next in line.

“Imaginary Friends,” by Ben Lear: I don’t know what it is about this track, but I can’t stop listening to it. It start out slow and whiney (why do I like it) and then kind of booms out into a faster whinier chorus… and I LOVE IT! Judge for yourself. Kind of a Neil Young feel on this little guy.

“Florida,” by Starfucker: With a name like Starfucker, you kind of need to be awesome. These guys make the cut. Feel free to bang all the celebs you want, but not Burt Bacharach! GODDAMN YOU IF YOU TOUCH BURT!

“Death,” by White Lies: I’m a huge fan of any song that starts off slow, but carries you along with it. Wagging it’s finger to come hither. Just wait. The pay off is coming. This song does that and then some. Breaking down into a climax of shaken bones.

“About Today,” by The National: This song doesn’t. It kind of just teases you. Annoying, right?

“Hush,” by Actually: I have a weird thing with this song/video. I’m sexually attracted to it. I’m not kidding. Are there any songs that make you feel funny in the pants region? See that comment box on the bottom. USE IT.

“Badonkadonkey,” by Born Ruffians: This band has had pinches of spotlight cast their way, but nothing substantial, and it blows my mind. They’re fantastic. Everything they do is fantastic. They genre bounces so fluidly you don’t even recognize that you’re listening to a song influenced by decades and decades of different sounds. One day Ruffians, I promise.

“Give It To Me,” by The Troggs: Another band that wasn’t fully appreciated in their time. The Troggs, short for The Troglodytes, were one of the first punk acts ever. They may not sound like it, but what do you think they’re asking you to give them? “All your love?” (that translates to vagina).

“Love Vigilantes,” by New Order: One of those songs you hear and think wow, I never hear this anymore, who sings it? Ends before you can Shazam it, and then you keep living your life, ignorant. One of the band’s best tracks.

“Go Raquel,” by ABX: Who’s Raquel? What’s she done? Where’d she come from? All this and more…

http://hoodinternet.tumblr.com/post/553774417/pitbull-vs-neon-neonabx-go-raquel-direct

“Close To You,” by Burt Bacharach and Barbra Streisand: Don’t you touch him Babs.

Their brand of music is slow, sad, rhythm, blues, country and folk. So when I found out that the band members were from Manhattan, New Rochelle, Santa Monica, Brooklyn and Massachusetts I had to ask Lola and Marianne Rendon (baritone ukulele and vocals):

Where does all the country and blues come from? You guys sound like you’ve been working in the field and have come in for some whiskey.

L: That’s just the music we’ve always liked. We live in an age where that music is accessible to everyone.

Yeah, but a lot of people don’t take it upon themselves to access it.

L: That’s been the music I connect to. Mostly blues, rock ‘n roll and country music. My dad is a big fan of country music and we grew up with it. I always thought the treatment of women in country music is really interesting.

M: Always crying about he left me. The themes are about really destructive things that have happened to them because of heartbreak.

Isn’t that really all country music though? Men too?

M: All music is about love.

L: I just think that country music handles it in this really interesting way. How simply it puts it. It has this very straightforward feel. My dad always says it’s three chords of the truth and I just love the simplicity of it all. I haven’t been playing guitar or any instrument for that long, and that three-chord mentality blows me away.

M: A lot of what our generation is putting out is a lot of electronic sound art, at least at Bard. It’s very experimental. There’s this venue at Bard called Smog, it’s a lot of dance music. To me that wasn’t fulfilling to make. I wasn’t interested in that. I was always drawn to folk and Bob Dylan and Mexican folk songs. For some reason I just connected more emotionally with that. I think they’ve called us a folk band before they’ve called us a country band.

L: Exploring traditional American music and reviving it is an interesting way of thinking about the history of men, women, love and the country.

It’s interesting because the genre of folk is essentially folkloric. It’s about telling songs of the past.

M: Yeah, and it interests me why people keep coming back to the genre, especially in a time where everything is ruled by technology. It’s all about fast-pacing. I’m writing about Lorca right now. He came to NYC in the early 20th century and he was incredibly dissatisfied with his society’s view of modern life. He was disgusted by it, and returned to folklore. I’m just curious why people wanted to return to story telling rather than natural aesthetic, even in the 60’s. I was at a talk with Bill T. Jones and he was talking to conservatory students who play classical music, and he was saying, “You guys are conservatives.” And the students all were shaking their heads. “You’re conservatory students, so you must be conservatives.” I think about that a lot with making music and why we choose to go that direction.

L: We’re always referring to something. Maybe that constant reference is what makes our generation interesting. What we choose to pull from is what makes us interesting. It gives us something to root ourselves in.

What is She Rose referring to?

L: To strong women who were strong before women were allowed to be strong in a lot of ways. Patsy Klein is a huge example of that for me. She refused to go with any notion of what a woman should be. Or women like Nina Simone, not that we make music that sounds similar to her, but what she stood for. Referring to a fantastic story in country about really strong women.

It’s ironic then that the formation of She Rose came from an all-male jam band night at the Black Swan.

L: I’ve always been interested in how women can take power right now.

M: I don’t think our intention was ever to make a feminist statement with the band. I think by doing what we’re doing, it’s creating a feminist argument, but it’s not something we’re fully aware of. I feel grateful that I don’t feel like I have to fight to be heard.

L: I do think I’ve had to fight for my right to be heard as a girl. Even at a liberal arts school there’s rampant and blind misogyny.

Can you give an example?

L: Some friends of ours play at The Black Swan every Thursday night, and they had posters made for the event called, “Bitches Over Easy,” and they’re, I would say, fairly evolved men. But the posters they made were these cartoons of women with eggs being made sunny side up on their tits. And it was a joke; they don’t believe in that stuff, it was a joke about that culture. Regardless, they were using that kind of culture to get people to come and participate in their event. I know they were satirizing it, but at the same time they were buying into it. It’s the same thing as this new wave of feminism, where women are showing more tits and showing how female they are, which I don’t disagree with, but they’re exploiting themselves to be exemplary of a very masculine culture. I think it definitely exists in a liberal arts school.

How have the live shows been going?

M: It’s great having a staple weekly performance. It’s been exponential how much we’ve grown as musicians having to play live every week. We’re fortunate that we’ve been invited to different venues in New York as well. I think people appreciate the music. We play Monday, which is fitting for us. On a Thursday night it’s a different vibe they’re setting for the space, people want to get f-cked up and have sex that night. They want to party. The mood we provide on a Monday night is very laid back, people come by after a long day of work; they have a whiskey and relax. It’s acoustic so people can have a conversation. But they listen. It’s a very different feel.

What can someone coming to your show expect to see?

L: We’ve been playing more upbeat stuff lately. More rock ‘n roll and blues than the folk we’ve been playing.

What are your plans post graduation?

L: Going on tour! We’re going south. Charlottesville, Nashville, Arkansas, Mississippi, everywhere we can. We have enough material for a full length, so we’re working on putting that together. The transition from playing covers to making original songs has been such an amazing experience.

Catch SHE ROSE at Bowery Electric April 16th. For more info on the band check out their bandcamp at http://thesquaws.bandcamp.com

“2.3 YOU HAVE TO LOVE AN INDIE-POP QUARTET FROM CANADA. IF YOU CLAIM OTHERWISE IT’S PUNISHABLE BY DEATH.”

I didn’t make the rules, that’s just how the cards fall sometimes. Yukon Blonde is such a band, and lucky for all of us they’ll be playing Piano’s tomorrow evening, April 10th at 11:30 p.m., with opening acts Library Voices and Silya. Blonde is making it’s way across the states to tour their sophomore record Tiger Talk. The production value is superior to their eponymous debut album, which seemed caught in the throes of surf pop, indie pop, and folksy bunk bunk. There’s a linear quality to their latest album, it doesn’t feel as jumbled as their first, which is a great step considering most bands hit it big on their first album and then get caught up in the idea of “experimentation” on the sophomore, which is the call to their reckoning (see: The Big Pink, MGMT, Albert Hammond Jr., Cut Copy, etc.).

Album cover of Tiger Talk by Yukon Blonde.

Tiger Talk is full of poppy rock tracks like “My Girl,” and “Stairway,” brimming with “ooo’s,” and catchy choruses. It’s the kind of CD you want to listen to when you’ve “got a case of the Mondays.” However, their music is strongest in their somber moments. Balladic tracks like “Sweet Dee.” When the band slows down a bit we’re able to fully appreciate their complex harmonies and lead singer Jeff Innes weather sweet voice. Note to all, backing “ooo’s” and “aaa’s” are much stronger than chorus “ooo’s” and “aaa’s.” It informs the music, rather than speaking as the music.

The band formed in 2005, originally under the name Alphababy. Thankfully, they realized how terrible a name that was in 2008 and switched it up to the more pleasing Yukon Blonde. Their performance style is similar to Stillwater. Yes, I’m referring to the fictional band from Almost Famous. Check them out at Piano’s and you’ll get it.

Damsels in Distress, directed by Whit Stillman.

I told myself I wasn’t going to drink last night. I lied. That lack of conviction lead me where I stood at the end of the evening, waiting outside the little girls room for one of the lead actress’ who starred in the film I saw two hours and seven Coronas earlier, to come out, so I could tell her how great she was in the movie, and that it was probably in her best interest to start dating me. I was wholly confident this tact would work, as long as she didn’t come out with a gaggle of friends…
The evenings screening, held by the Cinema Society with Town & Country and Brooks Brothers, was for Whit Stillman’s latest hats off to WASP life and SAT words, Damsels in Distress. Sitting in the back row of the theatre with my friend Stan, a stranger plopped down and nudged me, “Back row, eh?” he winked. “That way we can take off if it sucks, right? Ha!” I shrugged.
The stranger ducked out two-thirds of the way through.
The movie’s faults lie in its age. This is very clearly a movie about young twenty-year-olds, written by someone out of their young twenties. The edge and jaunty satire that was relevant in Stillman’s first film Metropolitan (1990) feels tepid and droll in 2012. It’s just… white. The movie is Wonderbread white. And while some liken Stillman’s pedantic writing to that of Woody Allen, I make the point that Woody is Jewish, so his neurosis is infused in the writing. Stillman is Ivy League, so his writing is infused with Xanax and not much conflict. The shortcomings of the film as a plot driven vehicle, were salvaged thanks to the phenomenal young cast, who handled Stillman’s buffalo cent words with elegance. Not faltering between the likes of hackneyed, chastisement or an argument over the correct pluralization of the word doofus. With scene after scene of two olive dry martinis, it was necessary for the audience to take a trip for a sip at the Soho Grand, where the after-party was held in The Club Room.
Lovely attendees ranging in age slurped down their “martis,” swirled some Woodbridge Sparkling Wine or drank the elderflower concoction handed out at the entrance. It had a red flower petal in it. I drank it and felt girly, which isn’t a bad thing, just a fact. I traded it in for a Corona, and spritzed a lime on the group I was conversing with. It seemed the stranger had snuck out of the screening to make an early entrance to the after-party. A lovely woman in the group asked if he enjoyed the film. He laughed, “I hated it!” This started a conversation on social faux pas’, and the woman admitted she had a particularly bad one earlier in the evening. She had attended the “From Scotland with Love,” event. Men were kilted up, and she jokingly asked one of them if he shaved his legs in preparation.
“No ma’am,” he had said. “I lost both my legs in Iraq.” He then pulled up his kilt revealing two prosthetic legs. The woman shook her head. “I wanted to die.”
At the bar I fell in line with a dapper Brit in a pin-stripe double breaster. He was gregarious, and flounced me around the room introducing me to him and her and his and… hers? He told me he loved his wife, that he had always had a passion for fiery women. “That’s why I liked the film.” I furrowed my brow, none of the women had seemed particularly “fiery” to me. “They’re all batsh-t crazy! Beautiful little lunatics.” A photographer passed by, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Take a picture of me and my boyfriend!” I liked this guy. Sense of humor. She asked to take some candids, so he told me about how awful Wrath of the Titans was while flashes broke. “That’s what you learn when you have kids, there are so many awful movies out there.” He patted me on the back and went to sit down with a friend.
Four more beers in and I was walking around the room feeling like Midas. I’ve got the Corona touch. I had told a talent manager I didn’t like the movie. “I represented one of the actors in it.”
“I said I didn’t like the movie, I didn’t say I didn’t like the acting.”
I had failed flirtations with a beautiful Canadian woman. I had asked what she was reading: Game of Thrones and The Return by Joseph Conrad. Sexy. “Do you have siblings?” she had asked. I nodded. “How did you torture them growing up?”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “I was the younger one. I got tortured.”
“I was the younger one too,” she said. “But I tortured the older ones.”
“That’s because you’re a sadist. I’m a masochist.”
The films cast was spread out around the room. Adam Brody leaned against a mirrored wall, talking to Ryan Metcalfe who plays one of the singular “doufi.” The actresses’ were on couches here and there, but one in particular had caught my eye. I had read a profile of her before I had left for the screening, which happened to mention she was single and kind of a nerd. Just. My. Type.
I made eyes with her, and she caught on, looking back seductively. Or maybe it was a different adverb, worriedly? I was pretty much staring at her. Murderer status.
Nah, it was probably seductively.
“Noah, we’re leaving,” a friend called out. “You coming?” I turned around one more time, but she had returned to her conversation. I placed my Corona on the bar and made way for the exit, but as I was about to turn left into the elevator bank, I noticed the lithe creature slinking off to the ladies’ room. Her long black dress, picked up so she wouldn’t trip over the pool, seemed oddly familiar in all its backless glory. Holy sh-t, did I remember what this girls dress looks like? I need to get a hold of my creeper status ASAP. But it couldn’t have been a coincidence that this woman, this starlet to be, had left for the restroom at the same time I had left in general. No. She must be following me. A little of the ol’ cat and mouse, ay? I can play that game missum!
I stood by a pillar, futzing with my hair. I was waiting for her to return, for her to smile when she recognized that I had caught on to her none too innocent ploy. What to say when she came out? “You. Me. Now.”
“I read about you earlier tonight. I know you’re single.” Jesus, I’ve seriously become a creeper. When did that happen?! “You were great in the movie, how about you and I go make-” NOPE. The door to the ladies’ room opened. She stepped out alone. Walking towards me, to me, for me.
But then the door opened again and two loud-mouthed lovelies called after her. The gaggle of friends had magically appeared, and with it my Midas like confidence. She passed me by, and all I could do was smile, which, she did in fact return and then left forever. There I stood, drunk in the Soho Grand. Another damsel in distress.

“Operation,” by Yuck: I only recently came upon this London-based rock set, and I can’t stop listening to them. Though I only list the track “Operation,” I really could have put any one of the tracks from their eponymous record. Yuck’s Yuck has everything a phenomenal rock album should: the quiet songs ease you and the high power songs jack you up.

“Simple Song,” by The Shins: The Shins’ new CD Port of Morrow came out a few weeks back, and I kind of hated it when I first listened to it. When a friend asked me why I had such strong feelings about it, I told her that there wasn’t a single track on it that I wanted to listen to on repeat. She corrected me, telling me that was what was so great about the album. I went back and gave it another listen and realized the album is meant to be played on repeat. The songs create an impressive journey through the mind of the musician. “Simple Song,” shows derision from the regular course, as there are hints of jazz and blues rippling through it.

“Better Than Me,” by The Cribs: The Cribs are back sans-Johnny Mars (thank God). This is one of the pre-releases from their next album In The Belly of the Brazen Bull. It marks the return of the band to their punky roots. A little something to thrash your head to.

“Infinite Canyons,” by Miami Horror: The Aussies know how to make some pretty rad electro-rock. Miami Horror are different from their counterparts (Cut Copy, Empire of the Sun) in the mellowness of their tracks. Press play on this album, go to the beach and watch the waves craaaaaaash.

“Love King,” by The-Dream: We all have our guilty pleasures, alright? The sample on the back of this track is symphonic, while the crescendo is as impressive as any well-composed musical.

“Come on Feet,” by Quasimoto: To make up for the guilty pleasure here’s an old school track that should add a gray undertone to any sunny day. You think Odd Future just popped out of nowhere without any influences? Listen to this track and tell me you can’t hear the origin, baby. Plus that’s a mad music video.

“Let’s Get Out of Here,” by Les Savy Fav: I’ve never bought an album by these guys and I think it’s because I always enjoy returning to them and being surprised by how great a band they are track-by-track. “Let’s Get Out of Here,” represents the most used line in cinema, and romanticizes it and sexualizes it with a guitar riff and a panicked voice.

“Shy,” by A Sunny Day In Glasgow: I’m still waiting for the warm weather to consolidate. This is one of those tracks that you plug in, and just appreciate the cherry blossoms breezing in the sun.

“I Wanna Kill,” by Crocodiles: Revisited this track after watching the trailer for the upcoming Detention (which looks awesome). Crocodiles were on the forefront of the aught lo-fi movement. Only difference is that they did it well. It sounds hollow, but at least I can understand it, and the reverb actually adds to the song.

“Call Me,” by Al Green: Look, I’ll say it: I love Al Green. He took such obvious joy in his music. And that voice! Jesus. Check out the live version of this song before, and tell me something isn’t getting a little stirred up for you.

“Banana Phone,” by Raffi: Raffi was my first rock concert as a toddler. Little babies were lighting up their bubble pipes, and just letting the cool jams of that bearded badass lull them into a post-afternoon nap. Baby want a baba? Naw, baby want some rock.

“Uptown Girl,” by Billy Joel: This is the first song I can truly remember loving. When I was a little kid, my dad would ride his stationary bike in the living room and play his old vinyls. He played the Beach boys and the Beatles, but this Billy Joel track is the one that stuck with me. It was the first embrace of music outside of a childish entity.

“Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me,” by The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Speaking of my dads old vinyls, I found this gem of a record in the collection. The musical awakened a love of kitsch and camp that would later be explored in the films of Russ Meyers.

The next three songs are a shout out to my big brother who irrevocably influenced my music taste from all the nights I slept on his floor after I was too afraid to sleep alone. Convinced that the martians from Mars Attacks! wanted to kill me.

“Ruby Soho,” by Rancid

“Juicy,” by Notorious BIG

“Peaches,” by The Presidents of the United States of America

“Back at One,” by Brian McKnight: The first song I put on a “love” playlist for my first crush.

“Kiss Me,” by Six Pence None the Richer: The song I listened to on repeat when my crush told me she didn’t want my playlist. Tears. Streaming.

“Marquee Moon” by Television: Wait… Punk music doesn’t suck? It’s not just noise? CRAZY! Eyes opened.

“1979,” by RAC: The last song I downloaded. Dreamy cover of The Smashing Pumpkins all time great. This track is fit for the Drive soundtrack.