The Spanish Civil War

When I was a kid I loved Metallica, and they had a song called "For Whom the Bell Tolls" that every single kid metal band since then has played. I swear to god. You got a little brother or cousin in a metal band? Ask them. They played it.

Anyhow, I heard there was a book by that title and so I read it. I found it BORING, but I was probably too young. That experience saved me a lot of time, since I was also into Iron Maiden, and they are famous for having songs named after great literary works but having nothing to do with those literary works:

• Stranger in a Strange Land
  
• The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner
  
• Murders in the Rue Morgue
  
• Phantom of the Opera (it was too a book)
  
• Revelations (do bible chapters count?)
  
• Rime of the Ancient Mariner
  
• Heaven Can Wait (ok, that's a movie, but still)
  
• A Tale of Two Cities (ok, I made that one up, but still)
  
• Only the Good Die Young (do Billy Joel songs count?)

When I was an even younger kid I had been to the Alcazar in Toledo and was pretty moved by it. I must admit that I still don't really know much about the Spanish civil war, but I do know this giant half-crushed building made me feel something. There was a story, I don't even know if it went with this building or some other one, but there was a story of a besieged building, and of a tired general finally surrendering with only two words-- "no más." That really stuck with me.


A while back I had this list of embarassing confessions that started out with me not getting what was so great about the Clash. Well, that caused a small outcry with some of my friends, and soon I had a lot of advice on what to listen to and why. I had mix CDs and playlists and documentaries and books, and I decided it was my duty to give the Clash another try.

It didn't work.

Until one day I was tinkering around on the piano, and my wandering made-up melody suddenly seemed like it had to go a certain way-- a certain AWESOME way that must be from the awesomest song ever, what the hell was it from?

It must have sounded kinda like this:



I had to ask around and see what it was I was stealing, because I know the feeling of making something up and I know the feeling of stealing something you didn't even know you knew, and I knew this must be a little turn of musical phrase I had heard somewhere.

Lo and behold:

* * *

I've never read another Hemingway novel. I still listen to Metallica and Iron Maiden from time to time. I dream of going back to Spain. I love the Clash.

Silvio Rodriguez

Do yourself a favor:

1. Turn on your speakers.
2. Go to this page.
3. Listen to "Ojala."

It'll most likely become your jam for up to three weeks.


Then, if you speak some Spanish, do yourself another favor:

1. Get a Spanish to English dictionary (or use an online one, like this one).
2. Click on the Lyrics link on the music player on the myspace page.
3. Have fun with the many ways those words can make sense and nonsense: maybe you think it's a love song. Maybe you think it's about Fidel Castro. There seem to be plenty of theories.


There, now. Wasn't that nice? Don't you feel better? Good.

brotherly love

Through a series of strange coincidences beginning the December before last, I have become obsessed with rock and roll music from Philadelphia. That Christmas I received from my brothers no less than five albums of Philly-born rock. In chronological order: The Delfonics' La La Means I Love You and The Delfonics, Todd Rundgren's A Wizard, a True Star, and Dr. Dog's Easy Beat and Toothbrush. I can't think of a single song I don't like on these five albums. The Delfonic's version of A Lover's Concerto rivals both the Toys' original and the Supreme's version. Though he later turned to a-bit-too-smooth pop stylings, earlier Todd Rundgren is all over the place and really exciting. Dr. Dog will give you the dreaded "Dog Fever," which renders you incapable of listening to anything but Dr. Dog, and from which I am just now recovering two years later.

The Delfonics idoolized Little Anthony & the Imperials, who in turn were inspired by Frankie Lymon, a big part of the inspiration behind both Motown records and Len Berry's manufactured group you might have heard of, the Jackson Five. Their producer, Thom Bell, might be the one who invented those soulful, sliding French Horn lines that became so popular in later R&B. You know the ones I'm talking about-- those ones like at the beginning of "Didn't I blow your mind this time" that sound like they're calling out straight to you from the land of soul.

Right before A Wizard . . ., Todd Rundgren's Something/Anything was like a compenium of all the best rock hooks and tricks of its day. I wouldn't say many of the songs on it are great, but they are without a doubt perfect in every way. A Wizard, A True Star is much more scattered and disconnected, with ethereal moments popping out whenever you start to get sick of what else is going on: ADHD rock at its finest.

Dr. Dog is intertwined via shared members with two other Philadlphia bands of similar ilk: the now-defunct Raccoon and The Teeth, both of whom I've been enjoying the hell out of lately and using as a treatment for my Dog Fever, the way a recovering heroin addict switches to methodone on the way back down.

Thanks, brothers. Thanks, city of brotherly love.