Adventures in Starbucks’ Songs of the Week
I’m a glutton for punishment – actually better stated, I drink venom for breakfast. My addiction to glasses of liquid death with my oatmeal and eggs every morning has caused me to beg for additional flogging.
I’ve decided to give the Starbucks Picks of the Week another whirl. I haven’t been indicted for murder nor have I been committed to a high security insane asylum. That’s a little preview to what this post has in store for you….
Gillian Welch/Hard Times
Could it be? No way. Is it the apocalypse? Is there an ice skating party in hell right now? I didn’t realize I woke up in an alternate universe. How long have I been in this strange land?! Something fishy is going on……
BECAUSE I LIKE THIS SONG!!!!
I love it! My ears aren’t bleeding and I don’t want to slit my wrists in a pool lemon juice and chain smoke shots of bleach! I would listen to it again! Rejoice!!
Beautiful voice, simple sound, and a nice, slow, relaxing flow – what a shocker to find such a gem masquerading as a horrible Starbucks free track. She’s not for everyone, but I have a feeling if you’re a regular at Starbucks, you won’t hate it. Were I to nitpick, I’d say the song is a tad too long. That said, it would be sacrilege to register any complaints for a Starbucks Pick of the Week I actually liked after what Josh Groban, Jesse Thomas, and Elton John did to me.
I love you Gillian Welch. Let’s see how you do:
Madeline Peyroux/The Kind You Can’t Afford
My friend Rebecca with whom I regularly visit Starbucks told me that she loved Madeline Peyroux when she saw me pick up the card. I looked her in the eye and told her that I hope this Peyroux chick didn’t make me long for the sound of nails on the chalkboard. I wasn’t going to mince words bringing the pain to Madeline, nor anyone else responsible for the corrosion of my eardrums. Although Rebecca has been a close friend of this series for a while, I wasn’t going to guarantee her a pass for leading me astray with her vote of confidence for Madeline Peyroux.
Well, I am glad to say that I do not have to murder Rebecca.
Madeline Peyroux is legit. She has the perfect style for a coffeehouse, and the band accompanying her live performances featured on the university of tube is dope. I would go to see her live, and I wouldn’t mind owning one of her albums….for free mind you. She’s not the second coming of Ani DiFranco. She is however a pretty swell performer/recording artist.
Before you give Madeline a listen I’d like to wish you all a fond farewell. I can only assume the earth is about to explode right after I am castrated and forced to watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. I reviewed two weekly picks from Starbucks and didn’t swear nor go through several hours of a homicidal rage followed by a psychotic blackout. “It’s been real, it’s been good – but it hasn’t been real good.” See you in the next life.
Heeeeeeeeeere’s Grace!
Slave to the Rhythm
?????
This song sort of speaks for itself. I will say this however:
This song/video is weird. I hated it and thought it was a tragedy of Greek proportions the first few times I heard it. Then out of the blue one day I caught myself singing it. The next thing I knew I was singing it in my best Grace Jones voice. Making a daily habit of singing “SLAAAVE TO THE RHYTHMMMM” turned me into a fan of the song – hardcore. I’m not sure what made it come to the forefront of my mind today, but all of a sudden I heard Grace’s voice ring through my head.
I’m sure I’m not alone, but also sure this will still sound like one of the looniest things you’ve ever heard. Some of you are seconds away from understanding what I mean…..
Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam
The formula for composing these old school posts goes like this:
1) Impetus: a tune or a memory associated with a tune or movie sparks a few words about the artists and songs.
2) Deciding how many words to dedicate to the post – some posts are long, some not so long.
3) Choosing the songs/clips to include in the post.
4) And finally, browsing for pictures to include in the post – one or two normally do the trick.
Lisa Lisa was my first celebrity crush. I watched the “Head to Toe” video maybe 100 times during the summer of 1987 and may have kissed the television screen a couple of times while no one else was around with my 9 year old lips. Her big hair, great figure, and high pitched voice made me swoon. I had no idea what the hell she needed Cult Jam for. I’m not sure the rest of the world did either.
But I know now.
When I hit #4 on the post composition formula list for this post and started looking for Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam pictures, the reason for the existence of ”& Cult Jam” suddenly became clear. Taking you, my readers, down the yellow brick road of nostalgia has had many rewards, but none as great as the fun I had looking at old pictures of Lisa Lisa…..save the delight and laughter I was treated to while looking at pictures of Lisa Lisa AND Cult Jam. It was an absolute smorgasbord of laughter, headshaking, frowning, and wincing. I just had to treat you to a taste of what I experienced. Okay, it’s more than a taste, and I’ve definitely gone overboard. But you’ll be glad I did.
This was their cover of the "Head to Toe" single - of their 45 record! A large fraction of you reading this don't even know what a 45 is!! Those who do, I apologize for the reminder of the healthy volume of decades you have under your belt.
- Not sure if my knowledge of the English language will allow me to convince anyone under the age of 30 that this look was worn proudly by millions of women many moons ago.
Good Gordon Gin.
Anyway – Lisa Lisa’s hits will always be hits in my book. I love her despite her questionable photos above.
The Last Dragon
Since my old school reflections have started, the movies An American Tail, The Karate Kid, The Legend of Billie Jean, Silence of the Lambs, Krush Groove, Beat Street, Teen Wolf, The Heavenly Kid, and House Party have been referenced for their outstanding contributions to my life and yours. The props I’ve thrown out to those flicks would pale in comparison to the love in words I could shower upon The Last Dragon. Unfortunately if I set out to express my love for The Last Dragon in black and white, I’ll be trapped in front of a computer for the rest of my life.
The Last Dragon might very well be my favorite movie of all time, and has been in my top 2 since I saw it for the first time 25 years ago. The whys could tie up 24 hours of your life, so I’m going to have to pass on explaining what I love about this movie aside from the music.
The Last Dragon may have one of the worst soundtracks to a phenomenal movie. Fortunately/unfortunately, this only adds to the film’s shine. If you don’t like/have never seen this movie, it’s time for you to get back to your sports/gossip/news/porn pages. This post is for lovers of the Shogun of Harlem and the Bruce to the Leroy. The first two clips are from a couple of the movie’s awesome tracks that don’t get mentioned as much as the title theme and El Debarge. The last clip is included because I couldn’t resist.
Revisiting Starbucks’ Picks of the Week
Months back, I published a short list of idiotic decisions I’ve made in my lifetime. They’re not decisions I’m proud of as they’re an example of the imperfections of human existence. That said, they were not decisions I’m necessarily ashamed of either. Said dumb decisions prevented dumb decisions to come and made me less of a moron.
Unlike the decisions described in my post some time ago, there are some tragic errors in judgment that I haven’t learned from immediately. Some of the lame-brained buttons I’ve pressed clearly marked in my memory as “don’t press” have been pressed again in hopes that the previous error (and potential lesson) was an anomaly. I would later find out that disregarding fate’s obvious attempt to educate me was even more idiotic than concluding it was a good idea in the first place.
Some examples:
1) During the Patriots v. Panther’s Superbowl in February of 2004, I drank a bottle of Courvoisier. Hours after the last drop was done, my friend Lindsie was assisting me physically up the stairs. The next day would feature one of my top 5 hangovers of all time.
DECISION TO DRINK AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF LIQUOR: DUMB
Unfortunately, the hint from mother nature in the form of a brain stabbing headache wasn’t a clear enough sign to steer clear of drinking several pints of hard alcohol. I’d find myself finding the bottom of bottom of two half pint bottles of Courvoisier two years later. In addition to my former nemesis/lover, I had several thousand beers during dozens of Beirut rounds. I would later blackout right after trespassing on a friend’s neighbor’s property (details confidential). The next morning featured another one of my top 5 hangovers of all time.
DOUBLE DOWN ON DUMB = IDIOCY
Upon my second visit to my future in-laws house, my future wife suggested that I join the guys (my future brothers in-law/dad in-law) for a friendly game of basketball against friends of the family. Truth be told, I stink at basketball, and I did not want to play. I hate going into competitive contests I’m unprepared and overmatched for. What I didn’t know was that my now wife’s family didn’t stink as bad as I did at basketball….and that’s the only positive thing I can say about their individual hoops skills. Inevitably, we were pounded into the ground by the other family before we decided to switch ‘em up to end the slaughter.
I was too coy to bow out of the family game. Even though I hate losing and exposing my horrible basketball chops, I didn’t want to be a party poop. I should have refused the game and saved my dignity. I chose trying to impress my girlfriend.
Months later after building a stronger relationship with my future bride, the option was there to speak up regarding my disdain for getting my ass kicked in basketball on the eve of the next pending slaughter. I said nothing. The ass whooping commenced the next day.
DECISION NOT TO RESPECTIVELY DECLINE PARTICIPATION IN THE SECOND ROUND OF THE KICKING OF MY ASS: DUMB
Opportunity #3 to refuse participation in getting bent over on the basketball court at a family gathering was disregarded. You see, I shot the ball around that summer with my future brother in law. We didn’t improve to the point of bragging, but we’d practiced enough to prevent a repeat of the embarrassments of the past.
Unfortunately we didn’t account for the fact that our friends had a new son/brother in-law whom would neutralize every ounce of hope my now brother in-law David and I had put into our preparation. Our pants would be pulled down once again.
DOUBLE DOWN ON DUMB = IDIOCY
And now, on to the point of all of this: After a couple months of torturing myself listening to the Pick of the Week free songs from Starbucks, I ended the project almost as soon as I started it. In case you didn’t know (and DO NOT want to learn firsthand) a steady dose of bad music can give one an extended sensation of vertigo. For your sake I hope you don’t find out that I’m not exaggerating.
Months after kicking the decision to the curb, I thought back upon what an interesting idea the project was in the first place. I decided to revisit the project on a provisional basis. This time around, I would just sample a song every now and again as opposed the original plan of reviewing every track. What harm could it do?
I’ll tell you what harm it could do: “Fragile Bird” by City and Colour. What a truly horrific track with which to revisit this stupid project.
The kicker is that given I’ve had time to heal mentally and physically (see note about vertigo above), I thought it’d be best if I muscled my way through the entire track. This is a departure from the original process asthe previous guidelines allowed permission to turn the song off if I got to the point where I couldn’t take anymore.
MISTAKE!!!
Not sure what made me commit to listening to an entire track during my revisit to this project beyond sheer lunacy. There’s no explanation for my bright idea to listen to an entire song with a solid chance of induction into the vertigo-inducing music hall of fame. Nonetheless I tortured myself with several minutes of pure bile from City and Colour.
You got a caption for me? Is your nose bleeding?
“Fragile Bird” is not the worst song in the world, but City and Colour has the worst voice. Take a look at his picture above and study it during your run-through of this track. If you don’t throw up, lose my number. His airy voice melted a fraction of my skull and eardrums, and his image rendered me legally blind.
As a bonus, I found out that the artist’s real name is Dallas Green. He’s on record stating that his alias, City and Colour, are in reference to his first name being a city and his last name being a color (colour spelled with the Canadian spelling of his homeland.
The prosecution rests.
While I prepare to talk this horror over with my psychiatrist, you can take a look/listen at why this “double down on dumb” was another notch on my doing dumb things resume. For those of you whom I see on the regular, the next time you hear me considering adding another post to this series, remind me of this post, vertigo, Dallas Green, and disintegrating brain fragments. Let’s see how you do……
Hey Lover
When LL Cool J released I Need Love on his album Bigger and Deffer, it was heralded as one of rap’s greatest love songs. 24 years later, it’s heralded as rap’s first major milestone in unintentional comedy.
Two reasons LL doesn’t take more heat for this:
1) His resume: 12 albums (well over 10 million sold), movie roles, fitness books, clothing lines, and a record label. So there’s that.
2) His redemption love song Hey Lover, a track which has stood the test of time and has avoided the same cheesy fate of I Need Love (well, save its association with Boyz II Men).
The track is dope, smooth, and still on many of my playlists. A buddy of mine, Josh, had the same love for the song; the two of us rapped all the lyrics to it under the influence of 73 beers outside a party at my friend Carolyn’s house in Providence, RI. Actually that’s a lie – said 73 beers denied both of our memories access to the lyrics of the third verse. College.
Mad love to LL, Josh, and Carolyn. This is more than a crush…..
The Heavenly Kid
I started this section on the blog not only to entertain you, but to educate each and all of you. And many of you children and fans of the 80s are in need of some history lessons.
I think it’s a safe bet that you’ve never heard of The Heavenly Kid. If you have, props. If you’re 30+ and haven’t, shame to your family name!
If you’re a fan of the 80s, you probably have some of the classics stored in your mental movie database: Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club, The Karate Kid, Teen Wolf, Spacecamp, Over the Top (I may have more to say about this one soon), Red Dawn, and/or License to Drive are probably amongst the 80s movies you’ve seen more than once if not dozens of times. Given you’ve seen any of the above, it’s safe to say you’re game for any 80s flick that features arm wrestling being taken seriously, teenagers ending WWIII, Teenagers flying a space shuttle, a teenager getting Heather Graham drunk and locking her in a trunk all night only to become her boyfriend later on, or a teenager turning into a monster and becoming a chick magnet.
So why would you have no interest in seeing a movie featuring a cool dude from the 50s trying to earn his way to Heaven by appearing as a ghost to a high school dweeb? Sorry there wasn’t enough room in the last sentence to include the part of said cool dude’s life ending in a gut race. What’s a gut race you ask? Two guys racing towards a cliff to see who chickens out first, that’s what it is.
If I keep gushing over this movie, I’m going to have to be hosed down with tear gas. I’ll get to the point: Mr. Joe Fiore delivers a tour de cheesy with his Heavenly Kid (Out on the Edge) track that accompanies the movie’s opening death scene (you hear that: this COMEDY opens with a DEATH SCENE). This track and the rest of the movie’s soundtrack should get more play in the cheese toast heaven of 80s songs. Alas – how can that happen if so many of you out there haven’t had the pleasure. Watch the movie soon. Listen to the song now:
O-NYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYX!!!!
During the summer of 1993, I ran (literally ran) to Sam Goody when I had enough money to spare to buy Dr. Dre’s The Chronic and this up and coming rap group, Onyx’s, album Bacdafucup. If you were in high school, were a rap music fan, and didn’t have these albums (or know the words to at least several of their featured songs), you were probably getting shit thrown at you in Spanish class. Both albums/artists were blowing up like Baghdad during season 2 of 24. And both albums featured more foul language than Quentin Tarrantino’s resume.
When I got back home, I ran to my room (again, literally ran) threw on my headphones and threw on The Chronic. I didn’t come up for air until I’d gone cover to cover. Had I not just added Bacdafucup to my music collection, Dre and Snoop would’ve gotten another spin, but it was time to dive into the hits of my boys in black. They laid down moshing tracks for the hood, and they were an instant obsession. I was happy to be traveling to an imaginary world where I stomped and shot everyone who looked at me sideways.
Things took a bad turn when my mother came to my room later that day to ask what I’d bought. Before I could hide the Onyx CD, she almost had seizure. Speaking of seizing, she seized the recording featuring an album cover of bald black dudes in black sporting a tech-9 that instructed her to Back the fuck up before she confiscated it in disgust. Fortunately mother dearest had no idea what the Chronic was, nor that I would eventually spend a few years burning it.
At first I was upset and borderline homicidal. My hefty amount of patience assured me that all I had to do was prove to my mother that I wasn’t going to shoot her or anyone else in the forehead after stomping them out to an Onyx soundtrack before she relinquished it. She eventually handed it back over after an embarrassing period that I rarely shared before 50 Cent smacked the shit out of Onyx member Fredro Starr a few years back.
Onyx was one of the groups that brought the “fuck off before I fuck you up to my rhythm” mentality to the world of gangsta rap that was taking the world by storm at the time. Although time and said smacking of Fredro Starr has aged their “tough,” Bacdafucup and Onyx were still granted membership into the hall of golden gats, malt liquor, and the sweetest of Backwoods.
For the record, Bacdafucup, got the noteriety, but All We Got Iz Us was dope. Unfortunately Underrated. Here’s the title track:
An Alternative Rock Reflection of a 30+
I went to high school in the early to mid-90s which means alternative rock was blowing up like K-Fed post Brit in the final days of cumberbuns being acceptable prom attire. The generations of teenagers preceeding us had pure rock n’roll, Motown, Disco, Funk, and the 80s chauffering them through the hallways, homecoming, and prom. The adolescent rebellions that ushered in my own featured at least a dash of class. Ironically, we didn’t have time for class when it was our turn to make out behind the bleachers.
By the time I got to high school our generation’s music inspried us to wear clothes two sizes too big, tattered, inside-out, and backwards. We also started screaming and yelling a little more, not giving a fuck a little louder, and wearing t-shirts that told the world as much. If you or one of your friends hadn’t tried to alter the color of your hair with kool-aid, you were most likely getting shit thrown at you while the teacher wasn’t looking (or even when the teacher was looking if you went to Bishop McNamara whilst I was there).
I’m not exactly sure if our revolution inspired the boom of alternative rock in the 90s, or vice versa. What I do know is how much I liked shaking my head to it in the days when I was spitting my gum out of the car window. I dedicate this very brief sampling of just a very few of my alt-rock favorites to all of you sumbitches in your 30s……
The Ghetto
In brief – I love me some Too Short, and I know you haven’t thought of this jam in a while, so enjoy.
And now a reflection which only my fellow Orientation Leaders from the summer of 1997 (don’t worry 98, I got something soon for you too!!) will appreciate fully:
Remember the Monopoly theme we brainstormed? Of course you do. But what you may have forgotten is how I would sing “The Ghetto” in reference to those of you whom were part of the Baltic Ave. crew. As everyone knows, Baltic Ave. is the second most ghetto property on the old school Monopoly Board. Only slum owners delight in collecting rent on that property. Speaking of delight, I hope this sparks memories, many of which are the greatest in my life to date. Here’s some big love coming at you from the Paul-E-C!
The Old Jigga
Before the 'Roc' he sold rock.
Months back my sister-in-law Emily (attorney at law) showed my wife Mandy and I a performance of Jay-Z performing on stage with his wife Beyonce. Emily couldn’t get over how cute they looked together. I snickered to myself.
Also months back, Jay-Z appeared on the SNL stage with none other than the only surviving Golden Girl, Betty White. I snickered at the visual.
Back in 2009, Jay-Z organized a charity concert featuring many of his hits, and a who’s who list of performers that absolutely ripped up the stage with him. All of the proceeds were donated to the New York Police and Fire Widows’ Children’s Benefit Fund. He raised close to a million dollars. That made me smile.
All of the smiling and snickering is due to the fact that Jay-Z has effectively made America forget that he was a straight up renegade. An urban, ghetto, gangsta renegade whom would have stuck you for your paper had you come into his hood profilin’ with a phat wallet and/or gear, and may have sold you a rock or two on your way home.
Jay-Z rapped his way out of thuggery and we bore witness as he morphed into a household name/celebrity/buisiness mogul and the perfect match for a salt of the earth mega babe like Beyonce. Had this been the plot of a movie, the critics would have dubbed it a ridiculous impossible fantasy of hooey and applesauce only an idiot would think would make a good film. Improbably, Jay-Z’s wild ride has made this a future documentary for the ages.
Jay-Z’s not the first rapper to rap his way into mainstream success/respectability and out of the thug game. It seems however that unlike any other ruffneck to regular rapper, Jay-Z has almost Men in Black’d the world’s memory of what he used to be. There are similar stories, but none like Jigga’s.
1) Dr. Dre: But of course. Compton’s finest. One of the greatest producers ever. Made Snoop Doggy Dogg Platinum. Made Eminem Platinum. Heavy influence in 50 Cent selling over 5,000,000 copies of his debut album. Quite the resume. Also quite the business man. Dr. Dre takes showers in millions of legitimate dollars. Unfortunately for him in title fight for legitimate branding vs. Jay-Z, Dr. Dre’s ties to his original claim to fame, N.W.A., disqualifies him from the contest. We all know what NWA stands for. NWA is synonymous with Dre’s fame, and there’s no erasing that from the memories of the girls next door. (Mr. Ice Cube was just eliminated for the same reasons)
You would've sworn this was a photoshopped image back in 1992
2) The Wu-Tang Clan: Undeniably the most successful rap group of all time. Name another group in any genre of music with 5+ members to have a platinum debut, launch the solo gold/platinum albums of several members, reunite as a group, and go platinum again without getting raped by a record label. Stop right there, because you can’t.
Wu-Tang also pioneered turning their name into a brand and turning said brand into a merchandising empire. Before Jay-Z. Before Diddy even. They took being hip-hop artists to another level. Their success spawned the acting career of The Method Man and the RZA’s work with Q. Tarantino for his Kill Bill movies.
It would appear after all of the above that the Wu is pretty stiff competition for the Jigga Man in the ruffneck to regular grudge match. Unfortunately, my beloved Wu was just disqualified. You see, the Wu features the names, Ghost Face Killah and Ol’Dirty Bastard (RIP). They can go no further in this particular competition.
3) Snoop Doggy Dogg: Although his skills as a business man are nothing compared the the brains behind Roc-a-fella and The Wu, Snoop’s success has nearly erased all traces of his ties to the Crips (one of the most notorious street gangs in American history) from our respective memories. The former gangster (in the literal sense) now does songs with Katy Perry, makes us laugh on his commercials, and has at least a small fraction of your parents’ generation adding an ‘izzle’ to their vernacular on occasion. His relevance as a rapper and a mainstream celebrity was worth mention in this discussion.
Unfortunately for him in this competition, he still openly burns tree with pride. Thanks for playing anyway Snoop.
That brings us back to the one and only, Jay-Z. He is one of a kind in all ways. The man who wears garments worth more than I made last month to NBA games for a team of which owns a portion of, is a mainstay in the universal definition of celebrity. Even if he did nearly murder his brother over jewelry, sell crack, admit/rap about it with pride, make millions off of it, parlay it into success, he has erased his once shady past from our collective memories effectively. “Jigga Man, ya heard.”
Here are a few of his titles that preceeded the Jay-Z you know today: