A quick note to say that my interview with Robert Pollard for PopMatters has finally been posted. It's the lead piece on the front page today, and features Pollard talking about his new disc, future projects and his manic ability to crank out songs: "People get writer's block all the time, and I don't even know what that is. And I think it's because I don't stop."

Don't miss page 2 of the feature, which offers my lengthy review of From a Compound Eye, about which I have this to say: "It took the break-up of his band, four album sides, 26 songs and 70 minutes to do it, but with his first post-Guided by Voices solo record, Pollard finally has made his classic album." Let the debate begin.

A recent perusal of an online Will Oldham discography (OK, I was bored) had me thinking about the number of minutes in a day and the things I could have funded instead of buying the dozens of singles, EPs and albums listed. Then my eye came across something I not only didn’t own, but something of which I’d never heard. It said “Mutter by Carrie Yury has Will singing and playing guitar.”

After a bit of Googling, I discovered Yury’s site, and learned that she was an MFA student at UC Irvine and had recorded the CD as part of “Mutter,” an art installation that included photos and… well, according to her bio: “Her current work, a song-cycle and series of photographs based on the Mutter museum in Philadelphia, investigates contemporary notions of empathy."

As part of that project, she wrote six songs and recorded them with old friend Will Oldham, otherwise known as Bonnie “Prince” Billy or the man behind the various Palace incarnations. His brother, Paul, also played, as did former King Kong drummer Richard Schuler and frequent Oldham collaborator Colin Gagon.

“Student art project” isn’t the most enticing way to describe a disc, but Yury acquits herself well in this company, offering songs that are very much in keeping with the feel these musicians bring to nearly every project with which they're involved. Oldham and his cohorts bring a slightly shambling, late-night vibe to Yury's sweet, simple songs. Hers is not the strongest voice (then again, neither is Oldham's), but she knows how to use what she has (again, much like Oldham), singing in a light, breathy voice not unlike that of Yo La Tengo's Georgia Hubley. And like that band, which uses Hubley's voice perfectly on its quieter, more atmospheric material, Yury writes within her limitations to good effect.

From the gentle opener “Twofer,” with it’s refrain of "you can't break a heart into two halves and expect it to go on like before,” to the light country lilt of "Metastatic," the disc’s six songs offer a breezy, compelling listen. Seeing the exhibition may well enhance hearing the music, and vice versa, but one need not experience one to enjoy the other.

Yury was kind enough to answer a few questions about the project. For more about her work, including photos and a link to purchase your own copy of the disc, visit her site here.

Q: I'm probably not alone in coming to your music by way of Will Oldham fandom. Do you suppose that has an affect on the way the music is experienced as opposed to when it is heard by those who are familiar with the visual aspects of "Mutter" and your other work?

A: I’m not sure how people experience the music when they come to it through Will fandom. It’s going to sound naïve, but it didn’t really occur to me that so many of his fans would hear about and want my little EP. I’m so glad they do! From the feedback I’ve gotten it seems like although many people have come to the album through Will, they take the music on its own terms. The response to the music has been wonderful.

Q: The original presentation involved the disc -- with its monochromatic and spare packaging -- being part of a larger work. Now that it the discs and the included music are out there on their own, is there a thought that they need the support of the photos and the rest of the installation to have their full impact?

A: No, not at all. Although they were both inspired by the Mutter museum, the photographs and the music aren’t really about each other. So it’s completely okay with me if people experience the visual and aural aspects of the project independently. In fact, sometimes I think it’s better if people haven’t seen the photographs when they listen to the music. That way they aren’t looking for the music and photos to be illustrative of each other. Instead, they’re just listening to the music, and letting that create the experience.

Q: It's not everyone who could enlist Oldham et al for an MFA art project. How did that come about?

A: They’re all friends of mine. It was my absolute dream that they could all participate, and they did! I’ve said it elsewhere, but Colin Gagon, Will Oldham, Richard Schuler and Paul Oldham are all such fantastic musicians, and were an absolute delight to work with. I’m so grateful to each one of them for making “Mutter” so incredibly beautiful.

Q: You've been quoted as saying "I think music is the last place in art where eliciting an emotional response to the work is not just sanctioned but actually lauded." Why do you think that is, and are there aspects to each medium (music vs. photography, in this case) that make that emotional response easier to elicit?

A: The reason that I think emotions are sanctioned in music but not in the visual arts is because music is still a popular art form, whereas visual art isn’t. You don’t have to have an advanced degree to have an emotional response to something. But you probably do in order to understand the history of the avant-garde in art. You could trace this back to conceptual art, or even to the advent of modern art. Without going into a lengthy yet half-baked art history lecture, let me just remind you of Marcel Duchamp’s urinal piece. An emotional response hasn’t been the way that we measure art’s worth for over 100 years.

I don’t know if one medium is better at eliciting an emotional response or not. I just know that the conditions under which visual art is made and received are very different from those under which music is made and received. Think about the market for each medium: visual art is made by an elite group of hyper-educated people for an elite group of super-wealthy people, whereas even if music is made by hyper-educated people, the music industry market is predicated on a per-unit sale price of under $20! So the music industry relies on a popular market, whereas the art industry relies on an elite market.

Q: What does this cross-pollination do for your work? Does knowing there will be a musical component affect the visual, and vice-versa, or are they separate but connected elements?

A: As I say above, they’re separate but connected. I really struggled with this because I so much wanted to avoid a one-to-one correlation between the photographs and the music. Once you make art and send it out into the world you have to give up control of the way it’s interpreted. I learn so much about what I’ve made from other people’s interpretations. For instance, I didn’t know I’d made love songs until Justin Vellucci pointed it out in his Delusions of Adequacy review! Imagine that. As much as I am a complete control freak who over-analyzes every single aspect of my artistic production, I am also really pleased and surprised when I hear readings of my work that aren’t completely in line with my intention. So much of what you do when you make art happens at the unconscious level, whether or not you want to admit it.

This year's Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony might be as notable for what doesn't transpire than for what does. In their typically overblown fashion, the Sex Pistols have issued a statement that they won't be attending the March 13 ceremony. "Were (sic) not coming. Were (sic) not your monkey and so what?" The note begs the question: Who gave Steve Jones a pen? Johnny Rotten might be obstinate and contrary enough to make such a decision, but you have to think he can spell a bit better than that.

The band's objection does raise a good point: "Fame at $25,000 if we paid for a table, or $15,000 to squeak up in the gallery, goes to a nonprofit organisation selling us a load of old famous." Wow, $25K to see a rock show with intermittent speeches? Never mind the last bit, the selling of "old famous." It's an odd line to straddle; rock 'n' roll is the music of youth, so parading geezers across the stage (this year literally, thanks to Black Sabbath's induction) is contrary to what is being celebrated. But as I've written before, rock is unique to everyone. For boomers, it's past inductees like Elvis, Chuck Berry and others. For me, it's R.E.M. and the Replacements. For kids today, it's Fall Out Boy and the Killers. The genre itself encompasses all of that and much more, and savvier fans certainly find themselves appreciating acts from a wide chronologic sweep. But the Pistols are right: The Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame is more about entombment than celebration and life.

Still, it's always an interesting night, and this one won't disappoint even without Rotten and Co. creaking their way through "God Save the Queen." Black Sabbath, Blondie, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Miles Davis round out the performer inductees. Ozzy's always good for a laugh, Skynyrd is a much deserved induction (I can already hear the all-star take of "Freebird") and I'm genuinely curious to see how they choose to honor Miles Davis' contribution to rock. My prediction: An all-star band led by jazz fan Carlos Santana.

So, silly as the Pistols' posturing may seem, what else could they do? When you've painted yourself into a little punk corner, you can't exactly show up in a tux to the big show.

Reading the latest issue of Harp magazine yesterday, I came across a feature on Amy Rigby that reminded me that I wrote a review of her latest disc, Little Fugitive, that hasn't run anywhere yet. It sort of slipped through the cracks at a couple of places, and I forgot about it. The Harp piece, one of those deals where an artist listens to songs and comments on them, reveals that Rigby has joined with the under-utilized Marti Jones to form the new group the Cynical Girls for a string of live dates, and that she has been on the road with pub-rocker Wreckless Eric (whose web site includes interesting essays about some of his best-loved songs, including the classic "Whole Wide World").


Amy Rigby
Little Fugitive
Signature Sounds

The cover of Amy Rigby's disc, Little Fugitive, shows seven different photos of Rigby on various forms of ID over the course of several years. It’s the first tip off you get that not only is this a woman with some miles to her credit, but that she's fine with laying it all out bare for examination.

Rock musicians don't talk about getting older. The entire enterprise is built on youth. Problem is, though music is targeted at the young, this misses a huge segment of the listening population. It also cuts out about 95 percent of the possible lyrical topics. While it makes for a pretty stultifying listen any time one turns on the radio, it means there is a wealth of material to be mined by artists with real-life experience to draw upon and the talent to render such situations cleverly within the confines of a three-minute pop song.

Male artists don't deal with this at all; women, more so. Lucinda Williams has made a career in part by being a mature woman who is willing to talk about it, and younger artists like Kathleen Edwards seems poised to do the same, writing about real-life triumphs and troubles. Most maturing women write esoteric songs that don't seem to handle aging real well; Shawn Colvin and the rest of the NPR-loved coterie come to mind. When they do venture into such uncharted waters, the results usually are drenched in sap to make them seem more palatable.

That's what makes Rigby such a treasure. She is willing to talk about aging and the challenges it brings, but isn't content to cloak her tales in the requisite quiet folk trappings. She likes to rock, and does it well. That has been clear from the outset. Her solo debut, Diary of a Mod Housewife, practically invented a genre, and she has continued to successfully cover that same territory for five discs over a decade.

Her latest, Little Fugitive, offers more of the same, but that's no slight. Rigby learned early on what works and sticks with the mix of confessional lyrics, gritty rock arrangements and sweet pop hooks. If the disc isn't her best, it's also not much of a fall-off from the top, providing a solid batch of great tunes.

She starts strong by listing the ways in which she is "Like Rasputin," the early 20th Century Russian advisor to the Tsarist regime who was ultimately killed by those close to the Tsar. Again, this is not your typical pop song lyrical fodder, but with it Rigby has found a way to re-position the well-worn "I'm down but got back up again" sentiment.

The second track will likely be the make-or-break point for many listeners. On "The Trouble with Jeannie," Rigby laments the fact that her new husband's ex-wife is nice. It's a light, catchy pop tune with a lyrical bite that makes it a meatier song than it would first appear. "I even tried to hate her like I thought I should, but since we met she's been nothing but good," she sings. It's a situation millions have faced, but seen from a perspective rarely addressed in song. Like it, and you'll no doubt love this record. Dismiss it and this isn't for you.

Elsewhere she offers a sweet tribute to the deceased Ramones singer in "Dancing with Joey Ramone," rattling off a list of classic pop songs to which she imagines two-stepping with the departed Brudder, and offers a litany of things she'd rather talk about -- from the hybrid car to the mason jar -- other than love in "I Don't Wanna Talk About Love No More."

And while Rigby has by now developed her own sound, she messes with the formula enough here to keep things interesting. She offers an homage to drone of the Beatles' "Rain" and "Tomorrow Never Knows" on the trippy "So You Know Now," and approximates a girl group sing-along on the sweet "Girls Got it Bad."

Not all of those experiments work. Only a couple of the songs here drag, and one is "Always With Me," a spacey keyboard-driven tune that sounds like a failed latter-day R.E.M. arrangement. The somewhat hokey "Needy Men" is able to transcend its limitations if you're in the right mood.

The disc rallies from the momentum killer of "Always With Me" with the perfect closer, "The Things You Leave Behind." The song, by Lenny Kaye, is the only one not to come from Rigby's pen, yet her performance -- on what ends up sounding not unlike a (good) latter day Tom Petty tune -- makes it fit the rest of the set perfectly. It's a bittersweet song about, if not making due, certainly making the best of the hand you're dealt. It's almost a thesis statement for the disc, if not Rigby's career.

I cringed a bit when reading Robert Christgau's essay about Eminem in the latest issue of the The Believer. In it, Christgau seems to work much too hard at trying to make the rapper seem more sophisticated, artistic and talented than he is. He is talented, clearly able to make compelling pop music that occasionally has enough substance to lure those of us who haven't listened to (non-public) radio to hear music in a decade or more, and savvy enough to create a persona that taps into the continual need for middle class kids to identify with lower class role models.

The problem with the piece is that Christgau decides that Eminem's use of several names is somehow indicative of the sophistication of his art and not simply an example of the latest in a long line of rappers who have done such a thing. "That I have a right to expect readers to follow the shifts and feints of Marshall Bruce Mathers III'’s triune persona is proof of the respectability that became his lot after 8 Mile," he writes, as if using the word "triune" somehow makes his point more valid. Christgau is an overwriter from way back, so it's no surprise that he'd drop an arcane nugget like that into an essay.

His thinking is this: Marshall Mathers, a poor kid from urban Detroit, created the character of Slim Shady as a "bad-boy projection" of himself. (He also gives Eminem credit for making a John Updike reference by calling his character in "8 Mile" Rabbit. Sure.) Christgau explains that Eminem was part of the D12 crew in Detroit, and, "like rappers since the beginning, each had a handle. Sometimes a handle implies a persona, like the Fresh Prince or Ol'’ Dirty Bastard. Sometimes it doesn't, like MC Run or Jay-Z. And sometimes it falls in between -- try to imagine Chuck D and Rakim, or Big Boi and Lil Jon, with each other's handles. D12's handles -- —Kuniva, Kon Artis, Bizarre -- —suggested characters. But in addition, these characters had alter egos. "Everybody in my clique had an alias. They was like, '‘You can't just be Eminem. You gotta be Eminem aka somebody else.'"

Somehow, Eminem deciding he could use a nickname or two is evidence that he is able to channel multiple personalities through his music, and that as his use of names has evolved, from the sass of Slim Shady through the auto-biographical questioning of the Marshall Mathers LP to the superstar ennui of the Eminem Show, he has shown a growing sophistication and... blah, blah, blah. Perhaps he's just a guy who realizes that if he uses two or three nicknames that's two or three more chances that some junior high school kid in suburban (insert name of city here) will scrawl advertisments for his work on a spiral notebook during history class.

If Christgau wants to like Eminem's music, that's all well and good. But seeing him try so hard to elevate that music into something worthy of the attentions of someone such as himself is painful. Sure, "The Simpsons" is an intertextual delight, Mr. Comp-lit professor, but it's still just a cartoon. Yes, the mystery fiction of Ian Rankin and Michael Connelly offers a fascinating study of social ills not usually addressed in so-called literary fiction, but they're still just potboilers. That's not to disparage any or all of that, for I'm a fan of everything I just mentioned (save for Eminem, for whom I have a bit of respect and even less interest). It's fine to brighten the corners a bit and point out the nuances of things you like as you explain why you like them. But when you start prattling on about the "triune personas" of a pop star, me thinks thou doth protest too much.

I reluctantly ventured out into the cold at the tail end of a nice cozy weekend indoors to see a Jeff Tweedy solo show, and was completely won over by his charming, funny stage manner and great performance.

After the split of Uncle Tupelo way back when, I was a strong Jay Farrar supporter and a reluctant Tweedy fan. AM was pleasant, Being There an indulgent bore and Summerteeth an oddly cold stab at power pop. Not until Yankee Hotel Foxtrot did I hear something that really clicked. A Ghost is Born, though critically slagged as being a less-satisfying follow up, is my favorite in the band's catalog for its mix of experimental boundary-pushing, creaky folk fingerpicking and unabashed pop catchiness. I've since gone back to Being There and Summerteeth to find things I like, though neither holds up as a complete album to my ears.

It was from that place that I took in Tweedy's show. In the past he has been criticized, fairly, I think, for a prickly attitude from the stage, but he clearly has learned how to enjoy himself and by extension entertain a crowd. He was quick-witted, self-effacing and responsive. He credited part of that to the reverent hush of the crowd -- which he in turn credited to the lack of alcohol at this university venue.

Hearing the songs in this stripped down format, I was struck by how much his music is influenced by the so-called American Primitives led by John Fahey. Maybe that rubbed off on him from Jim O'Rourke, whose solo albums on Drag City in the late 1990s were loving tributes to Fahey's guitar stylings. Much is made of the seeming influence Fahey has on the likes of M. Ward and Devendra Banhart, but Tweedy is perhaps Fahey's clearest antecedent, taking that guitar style and lovingly messing with it through studio manipulations. Strip away those touches, and you're left with some gorgeously shambling folk songs. In fact, I can pinpoint the start of my interest in Tweedy -- seeing him and O'Rourke and Wilco drummer Glenn Kotche (before he was in the band) performing at the Chicago Noise Pop Festival in 2000. That set, recorded subsequently in the studio, essentially became the first Loose Fur record. Soon, O'Rourke was on board as the YHF producer and Wilco's sound changed for the better as Tweedy began an exploration of sound that continues today.

Highlights of last night's set included surprisingly deft versions of "Muzzle of Bees" and "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart," a new song he says he wrote for Solomon Burke (who, from the sound of things, chose not to record it) called "The Thanks I Get," and a set-closing version of "Acuff-Rose" sung from the edge of the stage without the PA. Kotche, who opened the show with an interesting but overlong set of instrument percussion tracks, played the encore set, adding propulsion to Loose Fur's "Laminated Cat" (Not for the Season), "War on War," "A Shot in the Arm," "The Late Greats" and "I'm the Man Who Loves You."

Robert Pollard is offering fans a chance to own a real piece of Guided by Voices history with his latest spate of eBay auctions. In addition to the usual posting of posters and banners, Pollard is offering this: The Guided by Voices sign used for the "Family Feud"-themed video by the Strokes for the song "Someday." The video, available here, finds the two bands competing in a real round of the "Feud." Pollard is auctioning the sign and his "Bob" nametag from the video. As of this posting, the going price is 99 cents. That will definitely climb. My guess? $250 minimum.

I did an interview with Robert Pollard about a month ago for PopMatters, timed to coincide with the release of his solo debut From a Compound Eye. Thanks to a backlog of features on the site, three weeks on from that release it has yet to appear. So, I thought I'd at least post this to tide you over and keep up my (two-week) streak of Monday interviews. The PopMatters package will also include a lengthy review of the disc, which I argue is Pollard's first top-to-bottom great album.

Despite that forthcoming voluminous package from PopMatters, which clocks in at a few thousand words, I had much more from my Q&A with Pollard and offer it here. We talked about his work with producers, his many side projects, the fate of bands that started at the same time as Guided by Voices, and about his new live band, which includes power pop phenom Tommy Keene and Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster. Please do keep checking back on the status of the PopMatters piece, however; it covers much more about the creative process that led to Pollard's disc than I've seen elsewhere.


You’ve called this a new beginning. Do you feel you capitalized on that, that people will see this as a new start?

I’m excited about it. I think that people are going to think this is kick ass. I’ve rounded up a new band. It’s a really good band. It’s just like these guys are really good, smart, fun. I think people will see that. First of all, they’re going to hear this new material that I’ve come up with this year. I’m excited about supporting From a Compound Eye. I think that stuff is going to translate really well to the stage. There are a lot of good songs, a lot of powerful songs like "Love Is Stronger Than Witchcraft," "The Numbered Head"...

Tommy Keene is going to play keyboards, so for the first time in my life I’m going to be on stage where there’s keyboards, there’s actually going to be this kind of, at times kind of an ethereal effect. I’ve always had, you get on stage and pound 'em out.

Have you know these guys for a while?

I’ve know (Tommy) for a couple years. He opened some shows for us in the past couple years on both coasts. I’ve been a fan of Tommy’s for a long time anyway and it was a big deal for me to play on the same stage with him. He’s a good guy, and he just expressed interest that he’d like to play.

Are you going to play guitar?

...When we first started I played a lot of guitar, in the ’80s. But it gets too much to be the band leader and the drunken clown and the singer and try to play guitar too. I just want to get up there and have a good time, and it’s more fun not playing guitar. Some people may disagree, but it’s easier. I’m lazy.

The people that you work with either seem to have an impact on your sound, or you find the right people to help you achieve the sound you want.

I’ve gotten lucky. I’ve lucked into a couple good situations. The first one was with John Shough with Cro-Mag. First of all you’ve got to get used to each other, you’ve got to get acclimated. First with John it took a while before he understood what I did and then pretty soon he knew what I wanted. I don’t know how to articulate technical things. So all I can say is, "Make it go ‘wah wah wah,’" or, "Make me sound like Peter Gabriel on that," or "Give me the David Bowie effect," or emulate a lead with my mouth. You’ve got to be comfortable with somebody to do that. Strangers will think you’re weird when you do that. So after awhile they know what I want. I don’t even have to tell them, they just know.

Does (FACE producer) Todd Tobias push you more than other folks?

Todd doesn’t push me at all. That’s what I like. I went through the painful process of working with producers. It was a good learning experience and the guys were great. Rob Schnapf and Ric Ocasek were great. But I’m just like, I don’t have the patience to sing every syllable correctly... See, I don’t like things to be perfect. There’s a certain charm to things being technically imperfect. I just like to sing the song. I like to be the judge. When I worked with producers, they’d say, "You don’t want to have something that makes you cringe when you listen to it." That’s true, but I got to the point where I don’t care. I kind of like cringing sometimes.

Listening to your early work recently, I was struck by how much some of it sounded like the best regional bands during that time, early ’80s bands influenced by R.E.M. They made records that were as good as Forever Since Breakfast, but then --

You know, I hope those records, and they were, were better than Forever Since Breakfast. But that’s the reason, we made records, but I didn’t want to do anything with it, because I knew people would think, "This sucks," and I knew we couldn’t play very well. We just did it for our own amusement. It’s just strange. I think I was just rewarded for my perseverance, my sheer love of doing it, and not going for it. We didn’t promote ourselves at all. Finally, someone heard it. By the time someone heard us, I was ready to do something, you know, with Propeller.

Most of those bands faded away, but you kept plugging away and are obviously a better songwriter today than you were then. And it seems like there’s a lot of lost music because people didn’t have the wherewithal that you did.

It’s luck, it’s timing. We were done with Propeller. I was sure I would have continued to make music, but that was it. You’ve probably heard that I said that this was going to propel us to success, it was a joke. But luckily people found that record and were, there became a buzz and it started snowballing... Propeller did it. My joke became true. It did propel us to whatever level of success we were able to reach. These other bands that played around the same time, the same thing could have happened for them. It was just luck for us. Who’s to say. Not only did we achieve some success, but it became kind of fanatical, in small circles. I’m not sure those same bands at that time could have reached that craziness, but they certainly were good enough to still be around today. I think it was just timing and luck, and we had a certain weirdness that other bands didn’t have.

You channel that weirdness in many different ways, including side projects like that with Tommy Keene, to be called the Keene Brothers, and the Takeovers with (former GBV bassist and Off Records honcho) Chris Slusarenko.

I’ve got to cut down on that type of thing. It’s just getting too pressurized. It’s been pretty successful, and you wonder, when is one of them going to completely suck, you know. And what do you do about it. But, I can’t even believe that I have that fear. I shouldn’t worry about something sucking. That’s what I go by. I just pump them out and if it sucks then go on to the next one, or whatever. I just need to cut back on the collaborations, because I have a lot of people sending me music. And that’s the other thing, who do you decide to do it with and who not? And whose feelings do you hurt, because you don’t want to. "Why don’t you want to do it with me? Does it suck?"

That’s a nice problem to have, though, all those people wanting to work with you.

I guess. But then, I’ve got too much stuff coming at me. I need to chill, that’s what I need to do. But right now I’ve got to get ready for the tour, and that’s going to be fun.

I'm a Police fan from way back, so I was jazzed to read reports out of Sundance about a new documentary about the band shot and assembled by drummer Stewart Copeland. The film, "Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out," is 75-minutes of footage shot by Copeland starting in 1978, documenting the band's rise to superstardom from the inside. It debuted at Sundance and seems to getting a good response. Remembering how insanely huge the Police were at the height of Synchronicity mania, it's amazing to me that a project like this could fly under the radar the way it has. Beware (insert name of current top pop band with similar artistic chops, if such a band exists), it won't always be like this.

Copeland participated in an online chat at Washingtonpost.com last month, where he talked at length about the project, addressed the long-standing rumors that the band broke up because they hated each other and dropped hints that alter-ego Klark Kent (repeatedly referred to as "Klart" -- typo or lawsuit avoidance?) might make a return. The most important question, of course, is "when can we see it?" Copeland says, "That's what Sundance was for. That's where all the buyers see and start what I hope will be a bidding frenzy. The DVD will be available as soon as I can get it out there."

My review of the Nels Cline/Wally Shoup/Chris Corsano disc Immolation/Immersion is up at PopMatters today. It was a tough piece to write, as I sometimes find it hard to think of new ways to describe seemingly indescribable sounds. I thought the piece turned out pretty well, however. Next up: That long-promised Robert Pollard interview. If that is posted soon, watch for my Q&A with Uncle Bob here next Monday.

Thanks to Pollard's effusive nature, I had enough to write a few thousand words for PopMatters, compile a decent-sized Q&A for TIRBD and had things left over I couldn't use anywhere. Contrast that with a more reticent fellow like Lawrence Block, and the differences are startling. Block may be a prolific writer, but that easy way with words doesn't translate to interviews. Maybe he's saving his words for his books. Whatever the case, the new issue of Bookslut has an interview with Block that is almost painful to read given Block's terse responses. I interviewed Block in 1999 when he was on tour for one of his Bernie Rhodenbarr books, and while he wasn't chatty, he was more talkative for me than he was for this more recent interview. Still, he reveals that Hit Parade, the third Keller book, will be published July 4, and talks a bit about Manhattan Noir, the anthology he edited for Akashic Books (which is part of a series that also includes D.C. Noir edited by George Pelecanos and Dublin Noir, edited by Ken Bruen, two more TIRBD faves).

The 33 1/3 series of books from Continuum is like having a one-sided conversation with a friend about their favorite record. For 120 pages or so, a variety of writers have been given the chance to make the case for their picks. The choices range from bestsellers like Born in the U.S.A. to cult favorites like Forever Changes and Pet Sounds to the forthcoming obscurity Throbbing Gristle's 20 Jazz Funk Greats. The writers have come from many walks, from musicians to historians to critics, while the approaches have varied from fiction to straight historical recounting to Q&A.

Series editor David Barker, who blogs here himself, consented to answer a few questions for TIRBD, perhaps as consolation for rejecting my own book proposal, or more likely, to help get word out about this great series. Our interview inaugurates what I'd like to see become a weekly feature here, with a Monday Q&A. Stay tuned.

How has the execution of the series and the titles you've published so far meshed with the initial intent?

The folks at The Morning News have announced the 16 books selected for the second year of their Tournament of Books, and it's an interesting list. The tournament, which debuted last year, pits 16 books loved and recommended by TMN staffers and others against one another, with a different book blogger weighing in each week on a particular pairing. As the field narrows, in a format much like the familiar NCAA basketball tournament bracket, the tournament is left with a final 8, then four, then two. Last year's final pitted Phillip Roth's The Plot Against America and David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. Mitchell's book won the "Rooster" award, named for David Sedaris' brother, Paul "The Rooster" Sedaris.

The brackets and judges will be announced later this month, according to TMN. As for the books, here they are:

The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss
The Time in Between, by David Bergen
Veronica, by Mary Gaitskill
Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro
The Greatest Man in Cedar Hole, by Stephanie Doyon
Home Land, by Sam Lipsyte
The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova
No Country for Old Men, by Cormac McCarthy
The King of Kings County, by Whitney Terrell
Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman
The Accidental, by Ali Smith
On Beauty, by Zadie Smith
Beasts of No Nation, by Uzodinma Iweala
Garner, by Kristin Allio
Saturday, by Ian McEwan
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer

I've read Saturday (which , with ELAIC is a readers' pick in the pool), Home Land, and No Country for Old Men, and was underwhelmed by the first two and liked the third more than most critics. It's a difficult list to handicap. Never Let Me Go, The Accidental, Saturday and The Historian all have received plenty of awards and plaudits, which either makes them frontrunners for consistency's sake or dark horses because the folks at TMN surely want their award to be unique as opposed to another shout into the void. Stay tuned.

A coincidence in the stack of CDs I keep in the car allowed me to DJ an odd juxtaposition today, playing Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" from the recently released 30th anniversary box set for Born to Run, followed by a cover of the same tune from Bonnie "Prince" Billy and Tortoise on the new disc, The Brave and the Bold. The first is a majestic masterpiece, the second an odd deconstruction that grounds the song a bit. To quote the Boss, "We got one last chance to make it real, to trade in these wings on some wheels." But one could argue that the BPB/Tortoise version isn't necessarily "real," so much as "elemental," stripping away a lot of the bombast that came courtesy of the E Street Band, replacing it with a methodical beat and restrained playing that put the emphasis on the vocals as Will Oldham recounts this tale of wanderlust and escape. Like most good covers, it was entrancing while making me appreciate the original all the more.

I popped the covers disc out and put Born to Run back in, so I can't weigh in on the rest of the album. It's a great concept, however, and it follows two other discs on the Overcoat Records label that find two like-minded artists collaborating on a solid batch of songs. The first, Iron & Wine and Calexico's In the Reins, is the best known and most successful, but the second, Richard Buckner and Jon Langford's Sir Dark Invader vs. the Fanglord is also quite good, a mix that tempers Langford's oddity at the same time it gives Buckner's melancholia a needed kick in the pants. Here's hoping for more such pairings in Overcoat's future.

The Born to Run reissue was a great acquisition. The disc sounds great -- is this the start of an all-out remastering project on Springsteen's back catalog? -- and the extras in the form of 2 DVDs, are whetting my appetite. I'm most excited to play the live show, "Hammersmith Odeon, London '75," which is also coming soon as a 2-CD set. It's amazing to hear the energy crackling off these tracks 30 years later, and it makes me wonder how well the best music of today will bear up three decades hence.