All kidding aside, as a result of the tumult several tracks resonated as I was torn between the twin currents of reassimilating into life in the US (which also elected a new President in that time, shockingly enough, restoring parts of my soul as well as my belief in my fellow countryman), while simultaneously removing myself from all that I'd established in the nation's capital. Needless to say, those songs bearing lyrics of frustration, rebellion, and freedom held sway as I stomped around throwing my life into storage -- again.
Two of the biggest replays come from a pair of my favorite discoveries of recent years, the inimitable destroyers Kings of Leon and relative newcomers Cold War Kids. First up are the Kings, whose new album Only By the Night shows the boys from Tennessee continuing down the moodier, more melodic path charted on last year's Because the Times. Gone -- for better or worse -- are the wild barnburning rockers like "Molly's Chambers" and "Pistol of Fire" with frontman Caleb Followill's overtly sexual and often indecipherable lyrics. In their place are songs like the bouncy "Manhattan," the sweet-crooned "Revelry," and the cowbell-plunking "I Want You," which show the slower, more adult side of the formerly raucous lads.This disavowal (some would say growth) from their incendiary beginnings continues to take some getting used to. While Because the Times balanced the shift with a mix of the two styles -- for every slow-burning beauty like "Knocked Up" and "Ragoo," there was a slice of fire like "Camaro" and "Black Thumbnail" -- Only By the Night is almost exclusively composed of songs from the former camp. This is not to say it's a lesser album -- offerings like "17" and "Sex on Fire," the album's lead single, manage to bridge both camps nicely -- but like an amputee bothered by the scratching of a phantom limb, it's hard to forget the band's indestructible former state.
This was the group that exploded out of Tennessee five years ago to quickly become one of the best American bands, one that could single-handedly save rock from the pop waste proliferating around it; a band that nearly outsells Coldplay in the UK (though is still virtually unknown here). To have them "mature" and settle down like this is the musical equivalent of Stephen King moving from horror to his current style of novels -- still pretty good, but not as viscerally gripping and flawless as in the past. Nevertheless, it's still worth a listen. (And an up close and personal view, if possible -- you would be foolhardy not to see these guys live; they were meant for the stage like elbow patches were for professors.) The crown may be less opulent than before, but they're still the Kings. Check out the thumping whallop of "Crawl" here:
The second half of this entry's replay recap comes from the Cold War Kids' sophomore effort, Loyalty to Loyalty. While not necessarily on par with their stellar debut last year -- if only for the fact that the shock of discovering their uncanny polish and power as newcomers is no longer there -- the album balances slow-burning blues tunes with shambling guitar rockers. In the former camp are gritty gems like "Golden Gate Jumpers," "Every Man I Fall For," and "On the Night my Love Broke Through," which couple the signature storytelling of the band's debut with lead singer Nathan Willett's soaring vocals. In the latter are propulsive hits like "Mexican Dogs," "Every Valley is Not a Lake," and "Something is Not Right with Me," which clobber doubters with an emphatic one-two-three punch after the cool opener "Against Privacy" draws you in. The trio marries the band's swirling guitars with dirty bar piano -- one of their trademarks -- and carries the album along until the dead weight of "Avalanche in B," which drags things to a halt and nearly derails the album.Until the next track -- the stellar "I've Seen Enough," which rejuvenates the album and whose title captures my mood perfectly of late. The song is as good as anything else on the disc (close seconds include the aforementioned "Valley" and "Something is Not Right") -- foreboding piano, killer guitar lines, and middle finger in the sky lyrics -- that deserves to be played at high volume. Besides the fury of the song's tone and tenor, the lyrics struck a chord as I grappled with staying put and doing the safe thing or chomping down and making the break:
I've seen enough of nothing new
The blackest stain on history or last laugh blues
Not gonna fight, not gonna cry
Not gonna shop around
For one flag to fly
...
I've seen enough inventors age
I've covered up my face
Browbeaten shame
I've got the itch, I feel the sting
Like falling into the deepest sleep
and the telephone rings
I've seen enough...
The blackest stain on history or last laugh blues
Not gonna fight, not gonna cry
Not gonna shop around
For one flag to fly
...
I've seen enough inventors age
I've covered up my face
Browbeaten shame
I've got the itch, I feel the sting
Like falling into the deepest sleep
and the telephone rings
I've seen enough...
But don't take my word for it, check it out for yourself here:
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We'll close with a trio of songs that further formed the soundtrack for my mental wranglings lately. First up is an old gem from my beloved fellow Scotsmen Belle and Sebastian, "It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career." As I grappled with the job puzzle and whether I should keep doing something I exceeded at, but hated because I was ultimately ineffective, this song kept playing in the back of my mind as a potential epitaph. I didn't have a stroke and I'm a few years north of 24, but the bit about "pulling the wool, playing the fool" dooming you to a life of misery and people backing down from a fight rang true. (As did the bit about being considered the village joke because he "drank and swore and spoke out of turn." Hopefully I got out before the fate of the poor lad in the song, who ends up dribbling spit and wetting himself by song's end.) Despite the ominous portent of the opening line, though, I knew what needed to be done. (Check out the tune here...)
Once I finally made the decision to quit, Franz Ferdinand's "I'm Your Villain" (off their equally-appropriately titled sophomore effort, You Could Have It So Much Better) served as the perfect walkout song, its chorus at the end blaring in my head as I walked out of the building for the final time. A song about being the bad guy or outsider in a relationship and defiantly deciding to leave, as the other half "prefers to be miserable instead." (And I know this was just a job, but the emotions charted in its course followed a lot of those in a relationship -- early bliss with no critiques, occasional problems that get exacerbated by one party's inaction/indifference, and the gut-wrenching decision to leave once you realize that what could or should be aren't what actually is.) Crank this one up and pogo along at the end with Sunshine and this second batch of Scots.
Last up is the Postal Service's indie dance gem "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight," which formed the final piece of the puzzle and served as the soundtrack to Big Toe and I finally putting DC in our rear-view mirror as we pulled out of town. Besides being a fun little pick-me-up, the lyric about being a stranger who explains "I'm just visiting" really hit home. Despite spending six and a half years there, DC never felt like home to me, and as a result I by and large disliked my time there. Coming from Chicago (which held my heart like a teen guards a note from a crush, jealously and unabashedly) I had never truly appreciated how important a city's people were to its overall experience. So while DC had a lot of fun things to do -- close proximity to great hiking, biking, and tubing, lots of international cuisine to enjoy, great political discussions and knowledge of world events, etc. -- the fact that its citizens were so often self-important, arrogant, and unnecessarily carnivorous pricks soured your enjoyment of these day to day things.
And so Big Toe and I decided to leave and start something new in our beloved city by the lake -- something scary (because it's uncertain), but hopefully more rewarding ultimately -- that most people don't seem to understand or care about. All they see is the safe, cushy job and that's enough for them. But those key people we left behind who get it -- and there were a few -- are the ones who will sorely be missed. I've been saying for months amidst all the madness that people have been showing their true colors -- be they managers at work or friends on the outside -- people you thought you could count on to do what they said or be there for support when you needed it. In far too many cases, they fell down on the job -- which hurt due to the surprise and sense of betrayal, but ultimately made the decision to leave easier -- but these key stalwarts were true friends and really will be missed. They'll always have a couch to sleep on in the windy city, should they decide to brave it soon. Until next time, my friends...
------------------
We'll close with a trio of songs that further formed the soundtrack for my mental wranglings lately. First up is an old gem from my beloved fellow Scotsmen Belle and Sebastian, "It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career." As I grappled with the job puzzle and whether I should keep doing something I exceeded at, but hated because I was ultimately ineffective, this song kept playing in the back of my mind as a potential epitaph. I didn't have a stroke and I'm a few years north of 24, but the bit about "pulling the wool, playing the fool" dooming you to a life of misery and people backing down from a fight rang true. (As did the bit about being considered the village joke because he "drank and swore and spoke out of turn." Hopefully I got out before the fate of the poor lad in the song, who ends up dribbling spit and wetting himself by song's end.) Despite the ominous portent of the opening line, though, I knew what needed to be done. (Check out the tune here...)
Once I finally made the decision to quit, Franz Ferdinand's "I'm Your Villain" (off their equally-appropriately titled sophomore effort, You Could Have It So Much Better) served as the perfect walkout song, its chorus at the end blaring in my head as I walked out of the building for the final time. A song about being the bad guy or outsider in a relationship and defiantly deciding to leave, as the other half "prefers to be miserable instead." (And I know this was just a job, but the emotions charted in its course followed a lot of those in a relationship -- early bliss with no critiques, occasional problems that get exacerbated by one party's inaction/indifference, and the gut-wrenching decision to leave once you realize that what could or should be aren't what actually is.) Crank this one up and pogo along at the end with Sunshine and this second batch of Scots.
Last up is the Postal Service's indie dance gem "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight," which formed the final piece of the puzzle and served as the soundtrack to Big Toe and I finally putting DC in our rear-view mirror as we pulled out of town. Besides being a fun little pick-me-up, the lyric about being a stranger who explains "I'm just visiting" really hit home. Despite spending six and a half years there, DC never felt like home to me, and as a result I by and large disliked my time there. Coming from Chicago (which held my heart like a teen guards a note from a crush, jealously and unabashedly) I had never truly appreciated how important a city's people were to its overall experience. So while DC had a lot of fun things to do -- close proximity to great hiking, biking, and tubing, lots of international cuisine to enjoy, great political discussions and knowledge of world events, etc. -- the fact that its citizens were so often self-important, arrogant, and unnecessarily carnivorous pricks soured your enjoyment of these day to day things.
And so Big Toe and I decided to leave and start something new in our beloved city by the lake -- something scary (because it's uncertain), but hopefully more rewarding ultimately -- that most people don't seem to understand or care about. All they see is the safe, cushy job and that's enough for them. But those key people we left behind who get it -- and there were a few -- are the ones who will sorely be missed. I've been saying for months amidst all the madness that people have been showing their true colors -- be they managers at work or friends on the outside -- people you thought you could count on to do what they said or be there for support when you needed it. In far too many cases, they fell down on the job -- which hurt due to the surprise and sense of betrayal, but ultimately made the decision to leave easier -- but these key stalwarts were true friends and really will be missed. They'll always have a couch to sleep on in the windy city, should they decide to brave it soon. Until next time, my friends...
