and it opened my eyes

From AT's inbox; the names have been changed to protect the guilty:

In regards to your blog, we would like to ask you to write a piece on PSEUDO-CLEVER BAND NAME's new album "UNINSPIRED TITLE". With a diverse range of influences, from LEGENDARY JAZZ PERFOMER and LEGENDARY REGGAE ARTIST to WELL-LOVED INDIE ROCK BAND #1 and WELL-LOVED INDIE ROCK BAND #2, the band still manages to bring it all together and create something that sounds fresh, with hooks akimbo, and a lust and fear for all things cyber-televisic.

Sweet Providence, where do I even begin?

First up, dropping a fistful of self-consciously eclectic musical "influences" is the quickest way to get on my bad side. I have yet to listen to an artist or outfit which indulges in the practice that sounds even marginally like any of the acts they cite. It's a music marketing tactic that simply doesn't work, except maybe on the morbid curiosity, are-you-effing-serious, let's-stare-at-the-bloody-trainwreck level. Better to be up front and just honestly and simply state the truth: "shamelessly apes Joy Division," "wishes they were The Clash," or "sounds like every other lousy jam band."

The same knee-jerk distaste of mine applies to contrived buzz-words and phrases like "hooks akimbo" and "cyber-televisic," which convey the diametrical opposite of the message the PR flack is attempting to transmit.

The part that really caused me to grit my 75% amalgam teeth, however, was the opening line, phrased as a passive-aggressive corp-speak imperative. I'm sure many of you know the drill: "We would like to ask you to conduct a massive time-intensive revision of the database even though we plan on switching to a new front-end interface in two weeks which will make your revisions obsolete" delivered with a smile and unblinking stare. Do they seriously think I'm going to play the role of unpaid PR proxy in exchange for some weak-cheese ego stroking?

Even if it was a paying gig, I'd still turn it down. And not out of any sense of personal honor, either.

I get a fair number of emails asking me to promote or review songs, albums, or artists on Armagideon Time. It comes with being a music blogger (such as I am), and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly flattered by the requests even though I'm baffled why they put me on the mass email list to begin with.

I have never set out to be an arbiter of public taste here. I'm temperamentally unsuited for the role of a "serious" music critic (if such a thing even exists) because I am able to acknowledge the subjectivity of my views. My concept of "good music" applies to me and me alone, and in truth encompasses a lot of what might be deemed, sans malice, as "utter crap." I can live with that burden without trying to redefine the definition of "quality" to conform to my singular tastes.

What I can't, or rather won't, do is regurgitate PR hype or presume to shatter the dreams of a basement studio auteur because I have a venue to do so and an ego in need of gratification. I'm not a gatekeeper. I'm the eccentric old man who lives in a shack by the junkyard, showing off my collection of mismatched depression glass and spouting off rambling philosophical anecdotes to any person foolish enough to stop by.

It's a narrow niche that I've cut out for myself here, but it's a very comfortable one, too.

Pretty Girls Make Graves - Speakers Push the Air (from Good Health, 2002) - My synesthetic take on this track: The sun setting behind Horn Pond Mountain in October, as viewed through the trees in my backyard.

if you really knew me, you’d shake your heads

Rand: It just so happens that I've had some amazing adventures that a lot of people would like to read about.

Rook: You're cute, but you're dumb.

- Robotech: New Generation, “Symphony of Light”

Kevin’s post from yesterday reminded me that I had been meaning to do something similar for a while now, but have been putting off for various reasons. There are about twice as many of you out there reading (or more likely scratching your heads over) Amagideon Time now that there was at the beginning of 2007, if my logs are to be believed, so I should probably provide a meet-and-greety, mission statement sort of dealy-o for those folks who have only recently tuned in.

My name is Andrew. “bitterandrew” was an affectation carried over from my precursor journal, so as not be confused with these guys, but “Andrew” is what I usually go by. I’m a 35 year old quasi-techie type (explaining exactly what I do would take more effort than it’s worth) who shares a house on a hillside northwest of Boston with his wife, two dogs, a family of rabbits, and many, many cats both feral and domesticated. Oh, and there’s a chinchilla around there somewhere, too.

About a year and a half ago, I got the brilliant idea to start up a music blog after discovering the mp3 blogging scene. My previous plan was to create a comics-oriented site, but I was never able to figure out a proper angle for the project that wasn’t already being done better elsewhere; music felt like a much better fit. It started off rather mundanely, as I tried my hardest to color within the lines of “real” musical criticism, but I soon jettisoned any pretenses along those lines, decided to play it by ear, and let the site mutate into what it is today -- Tristram Shandy as written and musically annotated by a popcult obsessed slacker in his mid-thirties. I tend to be own harshest critic, but the formula -- an endless series of digressions from one hobbyhorse to the next -- seems to work more often than not. (I have been told by more than a couple folks that I have a knack for casting the mundane in epic light. I’m not sure what to make of that.) Who knew there was a modest audience for rambling, recursive messes incorporating autobiographical, polemical, and trivial musings set to music?

As for the musical selections, I’ve worn a lot of subcultural hats in my time. None have fit as well or been as loved by me as the punk rocker’s chapeau, though I’ve long since given up on pigeonholing myself into a single narrow role. Most of the material I post has a retro cast to it, though more recent tracks do pop up with some regularity. Armagideon Time is not, however, about plugging away for the current BIG THING, as most of that stuff falls outside my retrologist’s purview and there are hundreds of other music blogs covering that beat already. The choice and presentation of tracks on Armagideon Time has been likened to the concept behind the Back to Mine series of compilations, which --besides being a massive compliment -- is a comparison that captures the essence of what I’ve been (informally and unintentionally) doing here without having to go into messy over-explanations.

I’ve you’ve been enjoying Armagideon Time, great! If my tortured prose hasn’t entertained or enlightened, I hope that you’ve least enjoyed the music, and perhaps have been turned on to some artists and genres you may not have been aware of (and made use of the kickback-free purchase links to follow up on that interest). Feel free to comment, too -- but no pressure. I’m sparse with the comments myself, so I understand. I can always be reached at the email address in the sidebar to the right, should the need arise. (It may take time for me to reply, depending on my current situation.) I also have last.fm and Twitter accounts for those of you into those sorts of things. (My last.fm account is configured to scrobble only what I listen to at work, so the tallies are a bit lopsided.)

Something of a musical grab bag today, featuring some favorites which may or may not have been featured in previous posts:

The Clash – Armagideon Time (from the b-side to the “London Calling” single, 1979; collected on The Story of The Clash, Vol. 1, 1988) – The spiritual alpha and omega of the blog that bears its name.

Bill Haley & His Comets – Rock Around the Clock (from The Ultimate Collection, 2006) – This slice of teenage rebellion holds up pretty darn well after five decades, while Puddle of Mudd’s latest CD turns stale in the time it takes to take the shrinkwrap off the case. It makes you stop and think, doesn’t it?

Jamie Wednesday – I Think I’ll Throw a Party for Myself (from the We Three Kings of Orient Aren’t EP, 1986) – The jangle pop precursor band to Carter USM knows the right way to celebrate.

he came on a summer’s day

It’s going to be a good night tonight; I just know it.

How do I know it? Because when I arrived home from work, this song was playing on the boombox in the kitchen:

Looking Glass – Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) (from a 1972 single, collected on Golden Classics, 1996)

…and there are few omens more auspicious than the mellow sounds of classic Jersey Shore soul-slash-pop.

Am I jeopardizing my cache of punk rock points by admitting my total love for this song? Perhaps, but I could care less. I don’t feel the need to display my hepcat credentials on my sleeve, accusing other folks’ of having bad taste in music or liking “overrated” bands while offering their own equally trite and predictable lists of “edgy” songs and performers.

Fuck being contrary for the sake of hipness. I follow my heart when it comes to music, and for tonight, at least, my life, my lover, my lady is the sea.

Do-do-de-do-do.

(Edit: I thought it would be wise to point out that the above rant does not apply to any of my wonderful music blogging peers, but was a reaction to something I read elsewhere on the internet.)

I couldn’t leave her if I tried

Has it really been a year? Wow.

This post marks the first anniversary of Armagideon Time. When I launched this project on May 3, 2006, I was certain that I wouldn’t make it through six weeks before I got bored and packed it in. I came close on a couple of occasions, but there always seemed to be someone around at just the right moment to whisper words of encouragement and praise in my ear.

It took me a while to find my voice. When I started off, I tried my hardest to force myself into the role of a music critic and historian, but it was never an easy fit and I eventually gave up trying. Then, in an Archimedes-in-the-bathtub moment, I hit upon the notion of doing “theme” posts, and I started to hit my stride. Besides, I’m somewhat ambivalent about formal music criticism; I enjoy reading it when it’s done well, but it’s a rare occasion when overly detailed analyses manage to capture what makes a given piece of music a success or a failure, especially when lensed though the many-fold prism that is “personal taste.”

Given the choice, I’d rather just relate a personal anecdote, popcult reference, or random factoid to set the tone, and let the music speak for itself. I think this approach works, based on the fact that there are a hundred of you who make the effort to visit the site on a regular basis. (“Only a hundred?” you may ask. I’ve never been comfortable with being proactive on the self-promotion front, so the growth in readership has been an organic affair, helped along by the occasional kind mention here and there. Or you can see it as a bit of cyber-gnosticism, a hidden little cabal where the cool kids hang out but need to find the hidden doorway before entering the clubhouse. It’s also why I don’t beg for comments.)

I’m amazed whenever someone cites Armagideon Time as a positive example of or a favorite music blog, especially when the person giving the praise is able to codify what the heck it is I’m doing when I myself am not sure most of the time. Assessing a project from the trenches is hard to do, and it’s very comforting (and flattering) to discover that maybe, just maybe, I’m not completely making a terrible mess of things.

So, yeah, a big thanks to everyone who helped this blog make it as far as it did: the readers, fellow bloggers (as represented in the “Other Places of Note” links in the sidebar), and most importantly, my wife Maura, who has been patient and supportive regarding the whole project…even if she will never understand why Shampoo’s “Trouble” is such a great song.

No particular theme for this momentous occasion, just a small assortment of tracks culled from my “Current Favorites” Winamp playlist.

The Clash – Kick It Over (from Singles Box, 2006) – My favorite of the two 12” dub mixes of “Armagideon Time” The Clash recorded.

Benny Goodman – Sing, Sing, Sing (from Greatest Hits, 1996) – Yeah, it’s the one bit of swing jazz that everybody knows, but it still gives me chills each and every time I hear it. It’s also one of the few songs where “drum solo” doesn’t mean “slow, painful torture.”

The Monkees – I’m a Believer (from More of the Monkees, 1967) – I make no apologies. I’m a pop functionalist; the internal processes involved in production don’t matter, only the end result.

The Wall – When I’m Dancin’ (from a 1982 12” single, collected on No Future: Punk Singles Collection, Vol. 2, 1997) – Note-perfect punk pop, made all the more special because I discovered it unexpectedly on a collection of so-so UK82 band b-sides. The wife and I had it played during our wedding reception.

say yes to one and let the other one ride

Yesterday, friend CJ used my ice cream post as means of sliding past a bit of writer’s block. (I’ll never look at a creamsicle the same way again.) Today I’m referencing his post as a lead in to a brief look into the process – as much as there is one – I use in putting together theme posts. It’s all part of the 24/7 ouroboros buffet that is the blogosphere. Let the meta-goodness commence!

It all begins with a theme. Generally speaking, there are three ways that themes occur to me:

- inspirational – “Bolt from the blue” stuff.

- procrustean – Sometimes I’ll hear a song that I want to spotlight, and will weave an entire post around a certain aspect of it.

- opportunistic – This includes time-specific posts such as obituaries, tributes, commemorations, and holiday specials.

For some reason, I do better when I work on the fly. The ice cream and April Fool’s posts were conceived and written in the space of a half hour. If I put too much thought into creating a long form post, I tend to get bogged down by minutae, creating a sitiation akin to Leibnitz’s history of the House of Brunswick (i.e. excessively detailed and never completed). There’s a post I’ve been working on for the past week that’s been languishing in my documents folder because of tangential drift issues.

Track selection can be a tricky affair. While there are rare occasions where I’m able to figure out which songs I wish to use from the get-go, most of the time the process involves a bit of digging. The Windows file search utility and a glance at my archive spreadsheet, plus ample use of AMG, Wikipedia, and the Flex database are invaluable in this. When those fail, it’s time to make a trip to the attic and sift through my non-digitized music collection, which due to environmental hazards, is not the most pleasant of experiences.

(On a related note, for some inexplicable reason, any time I have to go upstairs to search for something, my bladder reflexively sends a burningly urgent “MUST PEE NOW!” signal to my brain, no matter whether I relieved myself before the expedition or not. Does this happen to anyone else, or is it just another irritating aspect of being Andrew?)

There are other factors to consider when selecting songs. Did I use a song by the same artist in the past month? I try to avoid dipping into the same wells too frequently for ethical and aesthetic reasons. (In all honesty, I could easily do what I’m doing here using the collected discographies of only a half-dozen acts – bis, The Clash, Siouxsie & The Banshees, Carter USM, The Byrds, and Lene Lovich.)

On occasions when there’s a wide selection tracks pertaining to a given theme (i.e. ice cream), I have to cull the pool down to a reasonably postable number. Some themes could easily warrant a four CD box set and I know folks who relish the task of putting such things together for their own use, but it’s not what Armagideon Time is about. When deciding which song make the final cut, I factor in both my personal tastes with the various songs’ levels of obscurity. There’s no point in my posting a song by UberSuperIndieBand if everyone is already familiar with it, and I’m apathetic about it.

Based on the feedback I’ve gotten, it’s my personal touch that sets this place apart, and I try to reflect that in the song choices. It’s not that I’ve necessarily “forgotten” or “shown no love” for an omitted track, it’s that I picked what resonated with me and what the readers might not have been aware of.

Throw in some rambling commentary and purchase links, find a vaguely relevant panel or sequence of panels from an old issue of Captain Marvel Adventures or some random DC comic book, and you’re good to go!

Big Drill Car – Freedom of Choice (from Batch, 1987) – Oh, no, it’s a Devo cover…and a very nice one, too.

The Lovin’ Spoonful – Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind? (from Do You Believe in Magic, 1965) – Remember when Dylan drove Nat crazy by repeatedly playing this song on the Peach Pit’s jukebox? That was a stunningly subtle way to show his inner conflict over having to choose between Kelly and Brenda. The early 1990’s were my personal “lost (part-of-a-)decade.”

In case anyone asks:

Hüsker Dü – Indecision Time (I used a Dü track a few days ago.)

Scissor Sisters – I Can’t Decide (Great song, like a raunchy outtake from The Phantom of the Paradise soundtrack, but no.)

Black Flag – Can’t Decide (Listened to this way too many times in college. My War was the worst choice for a breakup album ever.)

Twisted Nerve – Indecision (Interesting, but not the group’s best work.)

I know it when I hear it

I mentioned in a previous post that I used to dabble in the visual arts. I had a raw, fairly modest talent for drawing and painting that has long since atrophied into insignificance. Most of blame for that lies with my utter lack of anything even vaguely resembling discipline and my total disdain for repetitive tasks, but the decisive factor that killed any interest I had in becoming an artist was the Drawing 101 class I took as a sophomore in college.

The class was taught by an MBA graduate student who had been an undergrad art major. It would have been just another somnabulatory three-credit cakewalk except for two things. One, the instructor had an insane fondness for R.E.M’s Out of Time, and had the CD on repeat for the entire semester. Prior to this I had no opinion of the band one way or another (although I thought “Radio Free Europe” was rather nice), but over the course of the ten week semester I grew to positively loathe Michael Stipe’s voice.

The second problem with the course was that the instructor set aside fifteen minutes per class for critiquing sessions, and every student was required to contribute their opinions about their classmates’ work. Now I fully understand the importance of peer review, having had my writing (and confidence) picked apart in many creative writing and playwriting classes. In those cases, however, the professors were highly experienced in that sort of activity, and were able to guide the proceedings with subtle, skillful hand, making sure that everyone stayed on target.

The woman teaching the drawing class possessed none of those undergrad wrangling skills, and each critiquing session turned into a community theater production of Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery.” Because it was an intro level class, there were more than a few non-artistic types who took the class because they thought it would be a fun way to earn graduation credits. The poor saps were mercilessly flayed alive by a vocal minority of asshole art majors with delusions of grandeur: “And what, exactly, is this blobby thing here supposed to be?” It was awful to watch, and because attendance factored into one’s final grade, impossible to avoid.

I ended up skirting the issue of my own participation by saying the same thing about every drawing I was supposed to comment on, “Nice use of shading.” The instructor thought I was being a wiseass, but the truth is I registered for Drawing 101, not Advanced Techniques for Destroying Self-Esteem. In an upper level course, where everyone has a shared commitment to the craft and a sense of the effort involved, an open group critiquing process is an invaluable and frequently humbling learning experience. When conducted by an assortment of arrogant and insecure freshmen and sophomores, it inevitable degenerates into a wilding. There’s an inversely proportional relationship in these things where the folks with the biggest mouths end up having the least substance to offer.

Since I put my contact info in the sidebar, I’ve been getting emails from performers asking me to review their material here. I have to say I’m very flattered by this; it gives me an inflated sense of relevance that I’m not certain I truly deserve. The rub is that anyone familiar with what I’ve been doing here over the past ten months should understand that this is not a music blog per se, but rather an ongoing, rambling exploration of my whims and obsessions, which just happens to feature musical annotations. I’m not comfortable in the role of critic, as it is traditionally understood. It makes me feel like I’m back in the Drawing 101 studio, being asked to deliver a sanctioned ego blow to some poor Organic Chem major who thought it would be fun to take an art class.

I do make the effort to listen to all the music sent my way, and evangelize offsite when I think the sound fits the tastes of friends and other acquaintances, but the nature of this site and of my thought processes precludes reviews in the traditional sense. Should one of the tracks happen to fit into a theme post about Arion, Lord of Atlantis, that’s another matter.

Plushgun – Just Impolite (http://www.myspace.com/plushgun) – This is one of the tracks submitted to me for review, and I’ve developed a real fondness for it. It reminds me a lot of something from the soundtrack to one of the lesser known 80’s teen movies, which is a good thing. (I can’t tell you how many of those old soundtrack LP’s I’ve hunted down for the sake of a single, otherwise unavailable song.) Individual mileage may vary depending on one’s own brand pop sensibility, but I think it holds a good deal of promise and I’m interested in hearing the band’s follow-up efforts.

…and now back to our regular scheduled randomness:

Desperate Bicycles – The Medium Was Tedium (from a 1977 single) – Sloppy early British punk rock recorded on the slimmest of budgets. It’s from a subgenre that would later be termed “DIY” or “messthetics” (taken from Scritti Politti, who pioneered the aesthetic style before morphing into a mainstream pop act).

where it’s going no one knows

I’m going to go out on a limb today and do something that could possibly a mistake. (Let me rephrase that: I know it’s going to be a mistake.) Between Kevin’s and Laura’s and Mike’s notes on the subject of blogging, I’ve been in a meta state of mind about what it is exactly I’m doing here.

This whole operation has been an extended experiment in seat-of-my-pants flying from the get-go, with nothing really ever being planned past the frontiers of whatever whim or metaphorical shiny object that has grabbed my attention at any given moment. The site’s design – a stock blogger template with some minor tweaks -- reflects my “live in the moment” ethos, despite the nagging feeling that I could, and should, be doing something more than settling for the least effort-intensive course of action. (It’s a moot point for now, since I made the hasty decision to upgrade to the latest version of Blogger, which is an evolutionary dead end as far as radical design changes or jumps to Wordpress go.)

And yet I’ve seemed to (modestly) succeed in spite of all this. If the logs aren’t lying to me, Armagideon Time has a fair number of regular visitors amidst the crowds of folks swooping in for the music files. Various AT posts have been referenced and linked to by the likes of the blogging arms of The Providence Journal, VH1's Best Week Ever (twice), and USAToday. I’ve had the surreal sensations of seeing myself quoted in the print edition of the Boston Globe and having my write up on the Anemic Boyfriends cited as if I was some voice of authority. Not bad for an insecure basket case who instinctively recoils at the idea of aggressive-self promotion I suppose, but I’m notoriously ambivalent about these things.

While I always welcome feedback and comments on what I post here, I don’t go out of my way to elicit them because, again, it’s not in my nature to be that “forward.” (I admit that I’m sparing with my comments on other people’s sites, preferring to observe Honest Abe’s dictum, “’Tis better to keep one’s mouth closed and be thought a fool, that to open it and remove all doubt.” I have AT to display my foolishness to the world; there is no need to spread the contamination to other folks’ sites.) If I really wanted to, I could direct some more criticisms at The Smiths and/or Joy Division to generate responses. That’s one lesson I’ve learned during my time here.

However, getting back to that “fair number of regular visitors” I mentioned above, I thought I’d use this opportunity to pop my head out my shell and invite any and all of said regular visitors to speak up and introduce yourselves, and tell me what I’m doing right or wrong in your eyes. I meant to ask this during National De-Lurking Week and/or for my 200th post, but my plans got shelved in the midst of my extended illness and the monkey theme week.

I’m painfully aware that this reeks of “LOVE ME!” brand desperation, which, honestly isn’t the point at all. The truth is that I’m curious about the type of person who would come back for repeat helpings of my patented awkward mix of autobiographical, confessional, and obsession-of-the-moment meanderings. Afterwards, we can get forget it ever happened and return to more typical fare, with some minor adjustments and course corrections based on whatever feedback you may provide.

MC5 – I Can Only Give You Everything (from a 1967 single, collected on Big Bang: The Best of the MC5, 2000) – Except the first twelve issues of American Flagg! Or my copy of Valkyrie Profile for the PS1. Or my Wall of Voodoo Dark Continent LP. The rest is up for grabs, though.

Nick Lowe – And So It Goes (from Jesus of Cool, 1978) – One of my all-time favorite songs, it came damn near close to being spoiled for me forever. A few years ago, I was helping a friend move some stuff from a storage unit in Revere to his apartment in Boston, and during the ride back to his place this track came up on my driving music mix CD. My friend began to sing along to it rather loudly in a rushed, nasally sing-song voice that compressed the chorus into “sew-weet-gooze”. The aural experience was akin to undergoing a lumbar puncture procedure performed by a meth-addict with a meat skewer. (To be fair, this was shortly after I purchased Super Lumina, and hadn’t yet figured out the intricacies of her automatic seat adjustment controls.)

I’ve since managed put the horror behind me, but my wife still feels compelled to sing the revised chorus whenever she hears the song.

no one will guide you

This is my 100th post on Armagideon Time.

I began this blog in an attempt to actually do something remotely productive with my time, instead of just coming home from work and playing videogames until I passed out. There were no great ambitions behind my starting it. It just seemed like the easiest of several contemplated projects to do; posting and commenting about various tracks from my collection beats trying to come up with well reasoned commentary about comic books and/or politics on a regular basis. If my writing is shit, at least there’s the music as a consolation prize for the reader. It sure beats a case of Turtle Wax and a copy of Armagideon Time: The Home Game. (“Here’s a random song! You have thirty seconds to come up with a tangential, yet somehow relevant soundbite! Go!”)

I have zero pretensions about my role here. I’m not a bona fide music critic in the commonly understood sense, nor do I aspire to be one. The tenets of that particular mystery religion are incomprehensible to me and, I suspect, most of its current practitioners – a consensual mass deception carried out by scores of would-be Lester Bangs and Greil Marcuses too wrapped up in self-importance to admit they have no fucking idea what they or any of their peers are rambling on about.

Outside the gates of the old North Woburn dump was an old concrete foundation, a relic of the old tanneries, where unscrupulous sorts would dump their junk to avoid dealing with the sanitation authorities. The trash that ended up in there wasn’t of the household dustbin variety. Most of it was shit cleaned out of attics, basements, or gutted and abandoned houses. It was a paradise for a ten year old boy, providing he didn’t poison himself messing around with the sacks of arsenic that occasionally popped up in pile. Old magazines (yes, including porn rags), beat-up toys and games from previous decades, and sleds (plastic and wooden – there were a lot of these in there, for some reason) were the most common finds. Once I found two albums of postcards, used and unused, some with rare stamps attached, dating back to the 1910’s that had once belonged to a family of wealthy world travelers. My mother’s jaw dropped when she saw them.

My intent for this site has been to carry on that childhood work. Think of it as dumpster diving for a digital age. I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far.