After a flurry of activity that saw more than a dozen song-by-song blogs pop up in a matter of days, things have cooled a bit. To recap, the phenomenon got its start with the creation of Pop Songs 07, a blog from Fluxblog's Matthew Perpetua that found him pledging to write about every commercially released song in R.E.M.'s catalog. It seemed like a great idea to many -- including yours truly -- and several similar blogs were started for bands ranging in popularity from Pearl Jam to the Bluetones.

I've been surprised at how little is being made of these efforts, as it would seem to be the kind of thing that the pop culture-hungry press would jump on. To my knowledge, the only mainstream coverage came in an early New York magazine Vulture blog piece that tried to coin the term "ouevreblogs" (ugh, I propose the less onerous term "catablog"), and a column from Freaky Trigger columnist Tom Ewing.

As I can attest thanks to my own blog, My Impression Now, where I have set out on the near-impossible task of writing about the 1,200+ songs in the catalog of Robert Pollard and Guided by Voices (in his Freaky Trigger piece, Ewing said he could "only admire the gumption" of my plan, while New York magazine called it a "Sisyphean task") this is a daunting project. It's no surprise, then, to find a wide range of accomplishment and dedication among the 20 other such blogs of which I'm aware.

The keeper of More Than Ten, a Pearl Jam catablog, has set the standard, posting about more than 90 songs already. Perpetua is right behind with nearly 80 posts at this writing.

At the other end is Chrome Canyons, a proposed Wilco catablog from the keeper of that Pearl Jam blog. He pulled the plug without writing any posts (understandable given his output on the PJ site), pointing to someone else who took up the mantle by starting So Misunderstood just a couple of weeks ago. Fridge Buzz, a site dedicated to Radiohead's catalog, stalled after only five posts, while the writer of Emotional Karaoke, a Mountain Goats catablog, bowed out recently after about 40 posts, writing, "It turns out that about thirty or forty posts is all I needed to feel like I'd exorcised some of the feelings I had locked up," which points out just how personal, and time-consuming these can be.

Still others are just getting started. A new Pavement catablog, I Can't Sing It Strong Enough, shows promise after just a couple of weeks of posts.

In between are the rest of us who are doing this as a fun hobby, and who don't keep a regular schedule. The author of More Words About Music and Songs, a Talking Heads catablog, apologized recently for the lag between posts, writing that his work on a novel has taken time and energy away from the project. The author of I Got a Message for You, a Robyn Hitchcock catablog, has taken a hiatus because of a broken wrist, while the proprietor of the Cure blog One Imaginary Blog juggled work on a dissertation and traveling with his posting.

As for what we do with these blogs, some seem more critical, writing about the construction of the music and the success of the lyric. Others spend more time writing about their personal experiences with the songs, about their inclusion on mix tapes from significant others or the fact that they were performed particularly well at a favorite concert. Some embed videos from YouTube while others link to lyrics from meticulously kept band and fan sites.

One interesting thing is the fact that all but one of the blogs (of which I'm aware, anyway) cover the work of white artists who earn better reviews than sales (Pearl Jam being the exception in the sales department). One blog started recently for popular rapper T-Pain managed only three posts over the course of July, so it's still up in the air as to whether it will sustain, but the likes of Public Enemy, Wu-Tang Clan and others that seem to cry out for analysis thus far elude us. And while some popular artists are being covered, such as R.E.M., Nine Inch Nails and the aforementioned Pearl Jam, more obscure acts like John Cale, Marillion and Low are the norm. That's no surprise given the fact that the work of these acts would seem to merit more critical thought than would the songs of, say, Fergie or Maroon 5.

Will these continue? Will anyone actually complete their task? Yes and yes, if I had to guess, though plenty will peter out and some -- mine included -- will have a hard time ever catching up with their prolific subjects. I'd love to start blogs dedicated to all things Will Oldham, or Spoon, or the Replacements, or... but I'll leave that to other obsessives with time on their hands.

Labels: catablogs, music

As I admit somewhat sheepishly below, I hadn't read any of Laura Lippman's work before diving into -- and quickly devouring -- What the Dead Know. My excuse? She writes a series, and because I was late to that party, I felt a bit daunted. If I'm going to read a series, I start at the beginning. While always having another book by an author you love is a wonderful thing, trying to keep up with (or in this case, catch up with) several series can start to feel like a chore, too.Well, I had better steel myself, because I'll be adding Lippman's Tess Monaghan series to that list very soon. I was happy to have this new stand-alone as an entry point to her work, and it certainly won me over. The knock against a lot of crime fiction is that it focuses on plot to the exclusion of character development (as if having something actually happen in a novel is a bad thing), but Lippman easily delivers both, with a page-turning story and rich, deep characters that make you care about the outcome.

The story is that of the Bethany girls, sisters who disappeared without a trace from a shopping mall in suburban Baltimore. Thirty years later, a woman involved in an auto accident reveals a startling fact to police investigating the wreck: She is one of the missing Bethany girls. But is she? It has been long enough that few people remember more than stray facts of the case; the girl's father is dead, their mother lives outside the country, and the woman in question is reluctant to reveal details about her current life that could help corroborate her story.

Lippman came up with the idea for the story after a conversation among friends when driving past a mall where a pair of young sisters actually did disappear. While some details are the same, she really only used that real story as a launching pad. A curious "what if" is inventively spun into an intriguing thriller that is justifiably winning Lippman some of the best reviews -- and sales, as this was her first book to crack the New York Times bestseller list -- of her career.

I'm finally getting around to posting an e-mail exchange we had about the book, her career and her "web-based persona."

TIRBD: You mention in the afterword that the idea for this came during a conversation with friends on your way to a baseball game. Do you get ideas for writing projects like this all the time, and if so, what was it about this one that made it worth carrying through to fruition?

LL: All the time? No, unfortunately. But I try to keep my mind open all the time to inspiration from a variety of sources – the news, my own memories, vague ideas that intrigue me. I keep them in a mental tickler file – a little risky, when one has a memory as porous as mine. I should write things down, somewhere.

In an essay about this book you wrote for the HarperCollins web site, you liken yourself to a folk artist who makes something new from found objects. Do you feel unique in that, or do you see most fiction writers in a similar light? Would it be possible for you to write something where you didn't feel that way during the process?

My expression of the idea might be unique, but I'm sure I can't be alone in the sense that I'm using things that I've all but tripped over. I also know I'm not unique in my desire to be surprised as I write. John Connolly, in a recent blog entry, reminded me of the Robert Frost quote: "No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader." I may get wistful at times, thinking things might be easier if I planned everything out in advance. But easier doesn't equal better, does it? The mistakes, the cul de sacs – they're all parts of the process.

Back in my reporter days, I once stumbled on a great story by getting horribly lost on some back roads. My process now is just another version of that.

This is the first of your books that I've read (but surely not the last) though I've had good intentions in the past because of the praise for your Tess Monaghan books. I'm always reluctant to start a new series because of the commitment that entails, and so I was glad to learn about this stand-alone which offered a chance to read you with less commitment. That's a long-winded way of leading to this: do you consider those kinds of things when determining what to write next, weighing the desire on the part of fans for another Monaghan book as opposed to the audience expansion that might come from a stand-alone?

I wrote my first stand-alone because I had an idea that couldn't work for the series. It was only after the fact that someone – actually, my current publisher, Lisa Gallagher, who was then the head of marketing for Morrow – mentioned to me this idea that a long-running series can intimidate some readers. Because I've started so many series late, it never occurred to me that people might be put off. In fact, I loved discovering long-running series late because if you really love them, you have so much gorgeous reading ahead.

As for thinking commercially... I don't want to suggest that I'm so precious and insular that I never think about the marketplace, but it's never the first thing I think about. Writing a book a year might seem fast to some, but it's still a year of my life, and I can't spend it with a project that I'm not passionate about. That would be hell on earth.

Local color and detail is very important to this story; was it difficult to strike a balance between making it so site-specific that it might turn off readers from other parts of the country and making it real enough to resonate with those in the area?

I do think about this, and it's tricky. I love Baltimore so much that I find it all fascinating. But it's like cooking with a spice that's not to everyone's taste, and I have to be careful to use it judiciously.

What kind of response have you heard from long-time area residents about the book? Any resentments about digging up the past?

A lot of people remember the case that inspired me and a few have been critical. They don't necessarily recognize the difference between being inspired by something real and writing a thinly veiled version of it. My story, in the end, has very little to do with what happened in real life. One woman asked me point-blank if I used a real story because that would sell more books. To this day, I'm not sure I understand her reasoning. The case isn't well-known enough, outside Maryland, to be of interest to people.

But I have come to understand there is a lot of confusion in our culture about who owns stories. After all, Hollywood pays people money for their true-life stories and laws prohibit criminals from cashing in on stories about their crimes. So can stories be owned? I would say, yes and no. The real-life family, the Lyons, are the only ones entitled to tell their story. But I told a different story. For one thing, my story had a solution. The real-life one is sadly, tragically open-ended. I also created a wholly fictional family, one as different from the Lyons as possible.

You are very candid on your web site and your blog, and your fans seem to appreciate that candor and access. Does that come naturally to you, or is it something you have developed as your career has progressed?

My web-based persona is actually a little calculated. While I am genuinely open and personable, there's very little personal information about me on the web site and blog, and I've allowed some inaccurate information to stand because I don't mind generating some confusion about, say, where I live. I'm also cagey about what I'll call the demographics of my household – it gets out in interviews, but it's not something I volunteer. Am I married? Do I have children? That's not stuff I volunteer. When I was nominated for the Edgar in 2005, I was at Mardi Gras when the news was announced. And I had this very funny, silly photo of me along with – well, I'm not going say who was in the photo with me! Let's just say it was a minor, someone not in the public eye, who sets his MySpace page to private. My young friend was cool with me posting the photo, but I decided he wasn't old enough to give informed consent. So the world never got to see me in my pink wig and newsboy cap. Not a big loss.

There's this wonderful passage by James M. Cain, at the end of an introduction he wrote for The Butterfly, in which he decided to set the record straight about a great variety of things, primarily his literary influences. He concluded: "I am 54 years old, weigh 220 pounds, and look like the chief dispatcher of a long-distance hauling concern. I am a registered Democrat. I drink." My version would be: "I am 48 years old and look like a field hockey player gone slightly to seed. I am registered Democrat. I drink."

And, yes, I'm aware I omitted my weight.

Is your writing different now than it was when you were a full-time reporter? Are your habits different in terms of having more freedom to write when you want rather than needing to do it around a day job?

The big difference is that the novel is now, more or less, the only thing in my head for much of the day. And that's a great thing, not having to compartmentalize work the way I once did.

I wake without an alarm clock and when my work is done for the day, it's done. I was always at a disadvantage in the American workplace because I'm pretty quick and work is, for the most part, a timed event. If you finish early, you get -- more work! My life now is more similar to the open-space high school I attended, in which the reward for working quickly was extra free time. I spend mine at the gym.

Labels: crime fiction, Monday Interview

It was only a matter of time before someone figured out that Joe Pernice had more to offer than his annual disc of literate pop-rock songs. Word from Pernice's Ashmont Records camp today has it that the songwrite has inked a deal with Penguin imprint Riverhead Books for a novel.

According to Ashmont, Pernice is about one-third done with the book: "If you ask him when he'll finish his face turns all red, and he yells, 'When I finish!'... If you ask Joe what the book is about, he sticks his fingers in his ears and sings 'la la la la la, etc.'"

It's not Pernice's first foray into the written word. He started the Scud Mountain Boys while working toward his MFA at UMass, and he has a self-published book of poetry and the 33 1/3 book about the Smiths' Meat is Murder under his belt. The latter was one of the few fiction-based 33 1/3 books, so there is precedent for the media hop from music to literature.

According to Ashmont, Pernice's response to signing with Riverhead was thus: "I am really excited to join the Penguin family, where I get to be label mates with writers like Homer."

Labels: books, music

A lot of ink has been spilled in the debate about whether genre fiction and literary fiction are mutually exclusive terms. High-brow types like to relegate mystery and crime fiction to the commercially popular-criticially reviled ghetto, while writers of mysteries and their fans decry the second-class citizenship accorded works that focus more on plot than character.

John Banville's pseudonymous novel, Christine Falls, offered the opportunity for those on both sides to chime in. Having finally gotten around to reading the book, I can safely say it seemed more sound and fury signifying nothing to me than anything resembling a groundbreaking work. It was a fairly plodding, at times boring stab at a thriller from a writer whose books are often characterized as being about nothing. It's going to take more than writing under the name Benjamin Black and adding a bit of a plot to make Banville a mystery writer worth reading.

The book is set in 1950s Ireland and Boston, and tells the tale of a Catholic society that takes babies from disadvantaged Irish families and places them with families in Boston. The plot is more nefarious, of course, but suffice to say that's the long and short of it. Banville's protagonist is Quirke Griffin, the adopted son of a wealthy Irish family. Quirke is a pathologist, and he comes across the woman who gives the book its name after she's already dead, finding her on a slab in his office. Malachy Griffin, his brother of sorts and the hospital's top obstetrician, is somehow involved, and Quirke's attempt to unravel things leads him to uncover the larger plans and get himself and others into a great deal of trouble in the process.

While Banville is clearly a gifted writer -- his descriptions of people and places are at times breathtaking -- his attempt at mimicking the verbal sleights and shadows of the best thrillers, never mind the pace, show just how difficult it is to write a gripping pageturner. Sure, the characterizations in many genre novels pale in comparison to the richly drawn, three-dimension people who populate literary fiction. But Banville proves that the plotting and pacing of such books can't hold a candle to that of even middling mystery novels. Whether Banville's folly was his way of showing how easy it is to write such books is for him to say. If so, he failed.

That's not to say the book isn't entertaining in spots, and it's subject is one ripe for further exploration. But in terms of writing a book that bridges the gap between literary and genre fiction, many others have already accomplished what it seems Banville set out to do: write a compelling novel with real characters that happens to have a mystery at its core. Banville would do well to read the work of Dennis Lehane, Michael Connelly, George Pelecanos or Ian Rankin to get an idea of how this should be done. He promises further adventures for Quirke, though I'll be hesitant to tag along. Reading this did make me move Banville's Booker-winning The Sea to the top of my to-be-read list. Without the need to jam a plot into his story, I'm sure Banville's prose is rewarding.

Labels: crime fiction, criticism

It's a great time to be a fan of rare vintage soul and funk music. Much like the "Nuggets"-related crate digging over the past couple decades that unearthed hundreds of great, previously unknown garage and psych singles, a new effort is underway to do the same thing with R'n'B music from the '60s and '70s. The result has been a flood of great product into the market, with compilations galore that offer scads of slabs of great, greasy soul and chunky funk.

The latest efforts come from the Rabbit Factory label, each gathering tracks recorded at a particular studio. The first is The Birmingham Sound: The Soul of Neal Hemphill Vol. 1. As one could guess, the disc compiles tracks recorded at the Sound of Birmingham and Hemphill Studios, both in Birmingham, Ala., by Neal Hemphill. The tracks were cut in the '60s and '70s, and range from the instrumental soul of Broadneck to the sweet soul of Chuck Strong and the harder beats of the Blue Notes. There is filler here, but much of the disc is a treat, offering songs that, while previously unknown, feel like lost hits.

The second and stronger of the two discs is Soul Resurrection: The Playground Series Vol. 1. The disc gathers soul tracks recorded at the Playground Recording Studio in Valparaiso, Fla., under the watchful eye of producer Finley Duncan. The disc was compiled by Jim Lancaster, a producer and performer who plans to record at the studio again. He gathered tracks from more than a dozen artists I'd never heard of, most great, that run the gamut from hard funk to smooth soul to nascent disco. It's a great collection, one that plays like a mix tape of shoulda-been hits. From shouter Reuben Howell, who's "Bad Habit Baby" gives the disc a kick start, to the raspy pipes of Doris Allen, who takes a run through "I'll Keep on Loving You" and "Heavy on My Mind," the disc is populated by great performances. Standouts include Jimmy Gresham's "Chasin' a Rainbow," Johnny Soul's "Sang This Son" and Count Willie with Leroy and the Dukes' "The Funky Muscle."

The titles of these discs hint at further volumes culled from the vaults of these two studios. If the quality is on par with what is offered here, subsequent releases would be welcome additions to the burgeoning catalog of unearthed soul now available. It's great to see these artists getting their due, even 30-plus years after the fact.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

I would have been hard-pressed to leave Marcus Sakey’s debut crime fiction novel on the shelf. First there were the blurbs from the likes of George Pelecanos, Lee Child and Ken Bruen, all favorites and all fellas who don’t toss out unwarranted compliments. He also contributes to the Outfit Collective blog, a fascinating site where he and fellow Chicago crime writers talk about their craft. Then there was Sakey’s membership in the Killer Year group, a handful of debut crime fiction authors who banded together to help promote one another. My first toe-dip into that pool was with Sean Chercover’s Big City, Bad Blood, a great Chicago-based thriller. Sakey, a fellow Chicagoan, was getting equally rave reviews for The Blade Itself. How could I not read this book?

I’m glad I did. The Blade Itself is a taut, edgy thriller that lives up to the considerable hype, and marks Sakey as a new voice to watch in the world of crime fiction. It is the story of Danny, a southside hood who runs with Evan, a gun-happy thug. A botched burglary at a pawn shop sends the two in separate directions: Danny cleans up and goes straight while Evan heads to prison. Of course, nothing good lasts forever, and Danny has a hard time fitting a newly released Evan back into his life.

There is plenty of action here, but Sakey also salts his tale with considerable food for thought, riffing on second chances and the penal system in particular. The author spent 10 years in advertising and marketing before taking the plunge as a novelist, so he had to do significant research to promise verisimilitude in his story. He writes on his web site that he “shadowed homicide detectives, learned to pick a deadbolt in sixty seconds and drank plenty of Jameson.” But this is no term paper; he weaves this newly gleaned information into the story seamlessly.

Sakey’s next book is another stand-alone, At the City’s Edge, about “a discharged soldier who returns from Iraq to find a similar war raging in his South Side neighborhood.” Set in Chicago, like The Blade Itself, it is due in 2008.

The author keeps busy between books by writing non-fiction pieces for magazines and participating in a number of literary events. He took time out to answer a few questions about his books, his city and his peers.

TIRBD: It seems to be a somewhat risky move to start a career writing stand-alones in the mystery/thriller genre rather than to initiate a series, but you've managed to succeed. Did you give any thought to this when starting out, or was this simply the book you needed to write?

MS: I'll tell you a secret: you give everything thought when you're writing a novel. It takes a year, and it's on your mind the whole time, which means that you have months and months to not only identify all the stupid mistakes you're making, but also to flagellate yourself raw for them.

I worried about a lot of things, including not writing a series. However, at the end of the day, I didn't see a way to be faithful to the characters I had created and the story I was trying to tell, and yet also make it a series. So I took them through the worst experience of their life, punished them for old mistakes, tried to give them a brighter future, and then said goodbye.

The style works well for me, though. After a year of living with a group of characters, I tend to want a little relief, to move into someone new. So for now, I'm planning to continue writing stand-alones.

With the character of Evan, it would be easy for a lesser writer to let him devolve into bad-guy caricature. How did you keep yourself on the right side of that line? Where do you go internally to bring yourself to write about someone so far removed from yourself?

Well, first off, thank you very much.

What I was trying to do with Evan was paint a portrait of a guy who had always had a temper, always been rash, but had at one time been a good friend, too. Men can do that--we can have good friends that are people we may not exactly like, but trust, or have shared history with. In the beginning, Evan was that kind of a friend to Danny. But seven years in maximum security prison warped him, heightened his tendency to violence, and taught him that force was a universal language.

So my goal was to make him as human as I could without compromising the fear factor. I wanted readers to be scared of him, and to root for his defeat, and yet on some level to understand what had made him into the man he was.

As for writing that kind of character, I have to say, it's great fun. The bad guy lets you live your id, just free that part of yourself that wants and wants and doesn't like rules. It's cathartic.

Is there a Chicago tradition of which you feel a part? Are you and your peers like Sean Chercover starting a new one, or are you simply a continuation of something?

I love this city, and I'm certainly trying to capture some of its essence in my work. To me, The Blade Itself couldn't have been set anywhere else. But I'm not sure that I'm either connecting with an existing tradition or starting a new one. I'm just trying to write the best books I can. Right now they are set in Chicago; that may change someday. I take it one book at a time. I'm not smart enough to handle two.

You did some significant research for The Blade Itself; did you do similar work to prepare for writing your next book, At the City's Edge, which deals with a soldier returning from Iraq?

Research is one of the most rewarding parts of writing thrillers. You get to experience a life that is a hundred miles from your everyday, from the daily life of most people. I've ridden with the police numerous times. I've toured the morgue and learned how an autopsy was performed. I've taught myself to pick a lock.

For At the City's Edge, I had two main areas of research: the common soldier's experience, and the life and structure of metropolitan street gangs. Both were fascinating. I interviewed soldiers, spoke to cops in Chicago, LA, and New York, read numerous memoirs, kept up with daily blogs, even borrowed a bulletproof vest and spent a couple of days shadowing Gang Intelligence units. I love doing that stuff; my wife, not so much.

You share a lot of information about the process of writing and publishing on your web site. Did you find similar help when you were coming up as a writer, and if so, where did you find it?

Most definitely. That's one of the things I love about writing popular fiction: the community is so supportive. As far as web sites, three that aren't to be missed are A Newbie's Guide to Publishing, Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind and Backspace . Beyond web resources, though, authors themselves are accessible. Go to a conference. You'll find one of your heroes drinking at the hotel bar. Walk up, buy him or her a beer, and pick their brain. It's wonderful.

You also work hard to connect with readers, going to far as to offer to drop by Chicago-area reading groups who are discussing your book. Do you feel this is required now of authors who hope to break through, or is there other motivation to you to work this hard to connect?

Some level of self-promotion is definitely part of the game these days. But I also love connecting with readers. I'm still at the stage where it's strange and wonderful that people have read the book and enjoyed it, and so making an effort to meet these folks isn't a bother. It's a thrill.

What has it been like to be a part of the Killer Year group?

It's been great. We cheerlead for each other, and share connections and effort. And we've sold an anthology, which was edited by Lee Child. The book is called Killer Year: A Criminal Anthology, and is coming out next spring from St. Martin’s. Keep your eyes open for it—I’ve read a couple of the other stories, and they’re dynamite.

Labels: crime fiction, Monday Interview

As he probably has at every stop on the Police's reunion tour this summer, Sting tweaked the line "welcome to this one-man show" in the lyrics of "So Lonely," replacing "one-man" with "Andy Summers," then taking another spin through the verse to call it the "Stewart Copeland show." Whether it's a response to the well-worn fact that the three bandmates really don't like each other or simply a well-scripted cue for solo shots of the guitarist and drummer on the video screens above the stage, it's a cute if not terribly heartfelt shout out. The most interesting line of the song, however, is one that didn't change: "I always play the starring role." The difference between this being a Sting solo show or a Police concert is obviously the presence of Copeland and Summers, but without Sting, there would be no Police show, and that was clear every moment of Thursday's sold-out concert at Wrigley Field in Chicago.

As such, the show soared or sunk depending on the frontman. Sting seemed engaged and on top of his game for most of the set, so the show was largely successful. The few times when he let things slip -- either because of key changes to songs that better fit his diminished range or because of a lack of interest -- it was obvious that Sting is the engine that drives the Police. The show started slowly, something attributable as much to the stadium's configuration as to the band's performance. With only the fattest of cats in front of the stage, and a several-yard gap between those seats and fans in the stands who were unwilling to part with $250 for the show, connecting took some time. As Sting's son, Joe Sumner, said from the stage during his band Fiction Plane's 30-minute opening act, "I wouldn't be able to hear you if you shouted for the rest of your lives." But once the sun went down and the light show took over, the Police clicked and the show took off.

That meant a slow build through "Message in a Bottle," "Synchronicity II" and "Walking on the Moon" (with an overlong audience participation segment) in the waning daylight. A segue from "Voices Inside My Head" into "When the World Is Running Down" sparked a bit of fire, but then Sting doused that with a bland, seemingly disinterested vocal on "Don't Stand So Close to Me." So, the first mega-hit of the night was a dud, and the subsequent run through several early tracks -- "Driven to Tears," "Truth Hits Everybody" and "The Bed's Too Big Without You" -- failed to engage all but the most diehard fans. The band played well, but the trio definitely needed the excitement of seeing a previously impossible occurrence on a gorgeous night at Wrigley to keep the crowd hooked.

Then, just as dusk turned to night, the band caught fire with "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic." Sting seemed to embrace the playful nature of the song, and the band's fiery performance overcame the lack of keyboards and multi-layered tracks that bolster the tune on Ghost in the Machine. The song seemed to energize band and audience alike, and save for a couple of slowed tempos that made some songs drag, the rest of the concert was fantastic. While everything in the set was a hit, the final run that included "Wrapped Around Your Finger" and the massive crowd sing-along "Roxanne" was everything one expected from this show.

By the time the band emerged for the first of two encores to tackle "King of Pain, "So Lonely" and Every Breath You Take" (which couples still swooned to despite Sting's assertion for the past 24 years that it's about a stalker), the literal gulf between band and audience had been bridged. Of course, why leave well enough alone? The trio returned for a second encore, a ragged run through "Next to You" that showed that while Copeland and Summers still have considerable chops, the manic tempos of their youth are largely beyond their grasp. Not that it mattered. This was no novelty act, but rather a band of pros who, while they may not like each other very much, certainly make great music together.

The question is, will that continue? Everything about this tour is steeped in nostalgia. The T-shirts feature images of the band from its earliest days, the color scheme of the tour mimics that of Synchronicity and the fast-cut video montage accompanying the set-closing "Next to You" (the first song on the band's debut disc) was a compendium of snapshots from throughout the band's history. The thing is, even 25 years later, no groups really sound like the Police. That was evident upon hearing Fiction Plane. That band's first disc was an edgy slab of modern, angular pop. In comparison, it's opening set on Thursday was composed of songs from its new second disc that sounded like those of a band trying to mimic the Police -- not an unwise move for a band with a vocalist who looks and sounds like the guy fronting the band that drew 40,000 people to the stadium -- and it sounded strange for the fact that no one else has tried to do it before. The tour is proving that people love this sound and the last three decades have proved that no one else seems capable of pulling it off (Sting on his own included), so who knows what the future holds? For now it is enough to have finally seen the band, had a great experience and been left wanting more.

Labels: music, the Police

My initial interest in Elk City was sparked by word that former Luna guitarist Sean Eden had joined the band. While he couldn't just go off and do anything he wanted, a former member for a critically acclaimed, moderately successful band like Luna could surely pick and choose his spots, so joining a band I'd never heard of seemed like a pretty solid endorsement.

I was distressed upon opening the band's latest disc, New Believers, to see that Eden only played on three of the 11 tracks. He was an 11th hour addition, it seemed, and would probably have had little impact on the overall sound. I needn't have worried. The core duo of Renee LoBue and Ray Ketchem need no assistance to create a compelling, crafty collection of songs that seem beholden to no specific genre. Because LoBue handles the vocals, the natural tendency is to draw comparisons to other female-fronted groups. What really sticks out is a girl group and/or Brill Building vibe. There is a classicism at work here that clashes tastefully with the hipster/modern musical approach. The result is a disc full of songs that balance the tension of incongruity with the feeling that every subsequent note in a song is the only note that could have come at that time.

Things start with a bang with "Cherries in the Snow," a rocking little number with simplistic lyrics that nonetheless get lodged in your head. The chorus is essentially a series of "Ooh la las" are pushed along by Ketchem's pulsing drums and one of Eden's few solos, clanging bells recalling Phil Spector or Brian Wilson. From there the disc maintains interest effortlessly, shifting stylistically just enough to make each subsequent song sound fresh while keeping the overall feel of the record consistent.

The hook here is LoBue's voice. Hers is not a classically beautiful voice, but it works wonderfully in this context. When she pushes it, reaching for a note really just of her reach on "My Type of Criminal," the subtle grit that creeps in gives the song a sense of character that no radio-ready diva could match.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

There's was an interesting piece in the New York Times on Sunday that essentially calls 1997 ground zero for the woes the music industry has faced for the past decade. In the piece, David Browne calls that year "the start of the last golden era of pop (if not its final one) and, more important, the beginning of the end of the music business as we knew it." He's certainly right, and he's not the only one to compare chart-topping sales figures from that year with this one. The top selling disc of the past year wouldn't have made the top 10 in 1997, for example.

His analysis, however, seems off balance. In passing out blame, he seems to give record label mergers and the rise of MP3s the same weight as the shift from career artists with something to say to look-oriented one-hit wonders with no message. While the former two factors contributed to the industry's fall, it was the latter greedy cash-grab that is most to blame. It can look to outside factors, but the music industry shot itself in the foot be looking at short-term gains to the detriment of long-term potential. Boy bands by their nature won't ever enjoy long careers. Cute doesn't last, and it's creepy to think of subsequent generations of teenaged girls swooning over increasingly grizzled pinup lads as they move into their 40s. Meanwhile, the potential U2s and R.E.M.s that could generate consistent sales over the long haul are cast aside because they don't make the cover of Tiger Beat.

Browne does make a good point at the close of his piece, writing that for most consumers, things have improved since 1997. I think he would be better to say "discerning consumers," as the mainstream, which still buys the overwhelming majority of music-related products probably doesn't take advantage of the benefits he outlines, but they are there: Downloading and cheap reproduction have democratized the marketplace to the extent that anyone has the opportunity to get their music out the masses.

Labels: criticism, music