After seeing the absolutely amazing C.W. Stoneking a few months ago (in a tiny church, which was pretty much the best show I’ve ever been to. No exaggeration, literally the best show I’ve ever been to. Even months later, I’m in awe.), I started to wonder about some of his direct influences. I knew that some of the songs on his Jungle Blues must be covers, but since we don’t get liner notes anymore (sigh), I hadn’t yet looked into any of the original artists.

During the show, Stoneking mentioned a few who I hope to research eventually, but the song that’s always intrigued me on that record is “Son of America”, the very odd calypso ode to General MacArthur. I’d assumed it was a bit of a joke, a serious subject done so bizarrely intensely that it’s hilarious. I had no idea it was an old song.

The original artist is one Wilmoth Houdini (to the right in the photo above), a calypso singer from Trinidad who eventually became known as “The Calypso King of New York”. After singing in Trinidad and traveling the world working on ocean freighters, Houdini landed in New York and, apparently, went to town making calypso records. Between his arrival in New York in the late 1920s and the 1940s, Houdini recorded over a hundred songs and supposedly wrote over a thousand. Even though I’m pretty crazy about the ones I’ve heard, the sheer volume of these recordings might explain why a lot of them are a bit same-y.

In 1946, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan and His Tympani Five recorded a version of Houdini’s “He Had It Coming” as “Stone Cold Dead In The Market”. Their version was a hit R&B single and even had some crossover success. This gave Houdini the boost he needed to create calypso events all over the city, helping to popularize the style for the masses.

Although Houdini’s songs are an absolute joy – just try to listen to “Rum and Coca-Cola” and not get up and dance – here’s the really funny part of the story. Apparently, Houdini’s calypso colleagues back in Trinidad started to see him as, well, a bit of a sell-out, watering down their calypso for the American (ahem, white) audience. This seems to have started pretty early on, because Houdini answered these allegations in his 1934 track “Declaration of War”. Oh, snap! Diss songs, old-school stylee. Truthfully, his come-back is a little weak – he basically accuses them of being jealous ’cause he so fly. Not the most creative retort ever. The thing is though, I hate to say it, but I kind of see what they meant. From the first time I listened to Houdini, before I’d researched his career, I couldn’t help but wonder who these songs were meant for. I mean, ‘Oh, Frankie Sinatra … you have the perfect voice to sing calypso’ and songs about how great it was when the Yankees came to Trinidad, spending American money and dating their daughters – it sure seems like these lyrics were meant to appeal to the white record-buying audience. Not that I can blame him for it – the music business has never been an easy one, especially for black artists – but you can’t help but see what his fellow musicians were saying.

Even so, Wilmoth Houdini is a sadly forgotten artist today – I’d have never heard of him if it weren’t for C.W. Stoneking – and 1930s-1950s calypso isn’t a style we talk about often. Shame really, because these are some really wonderful pop songs. Grab yourself a collection of Houdini’s recordings at emusic.

I’ve posted about Len and their 1999 album, You Can’t Stop The Bum Rush once before, but in a different-ish context, so I’m calling it ok to repeat a little now. Even though it’s now 12 (holy crap) years old, that album still sounds fresh to me. Maybe because it doesn’t sound like the late-90s at all; it borrows and mixes tiny bits from all over music history and every genre, which gives it an oddly timeless quality.

Len was a Canadian band inspired by early hip-hop, gospel, skater-esque punk-pop … and Kraftwerk? “The Hard Disk Approach” is a surreal electro-pop jam, “Cheeky Bugger” would sit nicely next to Blink 182, and “Crazy ‘Cause I Believe (Early Morning Sunshine)” has a chorus that could’ve come from Stevie Wonder. But instead of feeling like a disconnected stream of references and influences, You Can’t Stop The Bum Rush is bursting with the pure love of music. You can hear it spilling out of the speakers – Len just loves it all. Now that I think about, that may be the thing that keeps me coming back to this album after so long, it’s infectious.

But even with a huge assortment of influences, Len clearly loves old-school hip-hop the most. Like, the oldest school – Kurtis Blow and Biz Markie make appearances here, though I’ll never know how they got those legendary guys to join up with these crazy Canadians. And they get it just right – I agree, old school is the best school, and on songs like “Cryptik Souls Crew”, Len pay homage with respect, not with mimicry or irony.

What a shame then that Len never really got it together properly again. Apparently Bum Rush was their third album and there was another after, but the reviews I’ve come across (I haven’t had the chance to hear any of these myself) haven’t been kind. There was an odd magic that came together for just one album, apparently, that was sadly not heard by many. “Steal My Sunshine” was a really fun single and Len will probably be remembered as a one-hit-wonder because of it, but they had a lot more to offer on Bum Rush.

Apparently, there’s a wicked case of nostalgia going around. I had no idea until I read Chuck Klosterman’s recent Grantland article (which I highly recommend) on the epidemic, but you know what? I’m kind of glad Chuck said something because now I feel less alone. I’ve been weirdly obsessed with the 90s for … well, a while now. It started with watching Thirtysomething reruns on tv, and then Northern Exposure on DVD. And the more I was re-exposed to the 90s, the more I’ve wanted 90s stuff – to the point that I’ve even got Soul Asylum on my iPod. Really. Soul Asylum. It’s becoming a problem.

But it all fits in rather well with a band I’ve been wanting to post about for a long time: Gin Blossoms and, specifically, their 1992 album, New Miserable Experience. Gin Blossoms are a band that kind of just faded away into unimportance, although this was a pretty great album. I suppose it’s not really the kind of album that gets referred to as one of the best of its time or anything, and – sadly for the band – it doesn’t really help anything that their lead songwriter (or, at least, the one who wrote their biggest hits), Doug Hopkins, was fired from the band just before this album was released and then committed suicide not long after. The band continued with a new guitarist, but either it just wasn’t the same without him or the Gin Blossoms were a band destined only for a specific moment.

Honestly, I’m not even sure what that moment was – an idea Chuck explains in his article that I found incredibly interesting: some music makes you nostalgic falsely, that you didn’t really listen to it at a great time in your life so much as you listened to it a lot at some point in your past. That notion really rang true with me; there are indeed some albums that are so intertwined with a specific (good) time of my life, that they are nearly inseparable. Pearl Jam’s Ten will always, always conjure up warm feelings associated with buying a much-desired album with saved pocket money, a weird sense of music-induced independence – the first album I loved fiercely, all on my own. New Miserable Experience doesn’t bring back any specific memory, only a sense of fondness. Back then, I didn’t have that many tapes, and I think Chuck is probably right that we used to listen to fewer albums more often. Through sheer repetition, Gin Blossoms became a band that I feel nostalgic about.

But that’s not really fair to the album and the band. New Miserable Experience really is a good album – early 90s alternative pop at its very best. Sure, its sound is most definitely of its time but, as a pop record, it holds up really well. It’s got mad catchy hooks everywhere you turn, so the songs burrow into your head and refuse to let go. It’s got the kind of melodies you absolutely can’t help but sing along to. Not terribly challenging listening, but here’s where I think Chuck missed one tiny aspect of musical nostalgia: a side effect of listening to one album a lot is that it becomes extremely easy to listen to. You know every note, you remember the lyrics years and years later, the melodies are so familiar you don’t have to think about it at all. It’s second-nature, and relaxing because of it. I think that’s also why I’ve been enjoying those old tv shows – they’re silly and naive, but they are so simple and easy to watch. Sometimes you don’t want to think about it, you just want to sing along.

A while ago, I talked about some changes I wanted to make here. To paraphrase myself: I talked about how I pretty much suck at writing about new bands and how I’d ultimately decided not to do that anymore. But I’ve been doing this little blog, for whatever reasons, for longer than I’d care to admit. I do wonder from time to time if, honestly, the sensible thing to do is to just pull the plug, but I just love geeking out about music too much – I can’t bring myself to do it. This is really my only outlet for what is, perhaps, my very favorite thing in the world. Even if I’m just babbling to myself, it gives my scattered affection a little focus.

But not really – we’ve always wanted to write about anything we liked, but that makes it impossible to pin anything down. When I finally said to myself, it’s do or die time, I knew that deciding to ‘do’ had to include narrowing myself to something I would properly enjoy writing about.

You’ll notice, perhaps, that I’ve updated the 100b header just a touch, to reflect my new focus. I eventually realized that what I love doing most is researching music stuff that has come as a surprise to me. Yes, I know that’s oddly specific – for example, my post about Mike Nesmith was fascinating to research. I started out just wanting to know what songs he’d written and discovered a whole list of achievements I’d never have guessed. My Shel Silverstein post followed the same basic path. Which made me realize that what I really love doing most is discovering those little bits that history let fall by the wayside. Sure, there are some people out there who know about them, but most of us have no idea.

I once read an article where Jack White said that, generally, the stuff that’s popular is the best stuff, that there’s usually a reason that bands end up in the bargain bin. I used to agree, and I still do think he had a basic point – popular stuff is very often popular for a reason (even Katy Perry is catchy as hell while we’re loathing her very existence). But what he (and I) weren’t thinking about was all those treasures that haven’t just been forgotten but were never noticed in the first place? Mike Nesmith made amazing albums that a few people loved, but were mostly ignored just because he was a Monkee. Those albums really don’t belong in the bargain bin, but most people don’t even know to look for them. I love looking for them.

That doesn’t mean 100b will only write about old music – sometimes I’ll want to point out an album from the more recent past that was unfairly ignored. But it does mean I will not write about anything new – for music to be considered ‘ignored’, it’d have to be at least, say, five-ish years old. Anything newer and there’s still a chance it’ll break out on its own. But even without profiling brand new bands, I hope people will stop by and find some music they didn’t know about before, that I’m able to give a little new life to something that has remained in the shadows for too long.

On that note, I’d like to briefly mention a band called The Blueskins to kick things off. You probably remember their debut album Word Of Mouth from way back in 2004 – or at least the lead single, “Change Your Mind”, which was featured in a Lynx ad in the UK. That was a pretty great album, a frantic indie-blues-rock affair, and “Change Your Mind” was a fantastic single. It felt like it was tripping over itself to be heard. But then The Blueskins kind of just stalled – they always seemed to be working on a follow-up, but instead formally broke up in 2008. Bummer.

For whatever reason, Word Of Mouth kind of went nowhere, but it deserved better. The Blueskins were definitely a band with promise – Tamboosh and I even went to see them play back then and they rocked out, even if the crowd was pretty small. It’s a shame they weren’t appreciated then, but I do see that Ryan Spendlove (Blueskins lead vocalist) released a solo album, Fables, earlier this year. I haven’t been able to hear the whole thing yet, but it sounds like it’s got good potential. A little more laid back than his previous band’s efforts, but there’s still some Blueskins wildness in there.

Get Word of Mouth at Amazon and Fables at emusic. And I do hope you’ll stick around to rediscover some forgotten music with me.

Who: Little Brothers, who are, apparently, brothers. Whoda thunk? Brothers Michael and Tony Weis team up with their friend Jason Anderson to record in Michael’s basement studio and write awesome songs for … their own amusement? Michael says that they don’t tour at the moment and that they do pretty much everything they do on their own. Michael also says that he doesn’t imagine that will change anytime soon, but I have to respectfully disagree. I’m hardly an oracle on these matters, but I think these guys have a very promising future ahead of them as a band.

What: Indie rock with bits you won’t really expect: a little bit of disco-ness, some ska, a touch of Kenny G (in an awesome way)? There is definitely something about this sound that is rooted in the 70s, and maybe also the early 90s, but it’s really hard to put your finger on exactly what it is.

Where: Louisville, Kentucky, USA

Why: Honesty? I’m not sure! I think I avoided posting about Little Brothers for a while simply because I had no idea what to say. This always happens to me when I really like a new band. Don’t you find it’s so much easier to describe what you don’t like than what you do? I think I like that there’s something quite 70s (my favorite time period, musically speaking) about their sound, that their singer (I’m not sure which of the lads is on vocal duty) has a wonderfully odd captivating voice, that these are songs you can’t help but dance to, that “I Miss Those Days” (being in a bit of homesick phase right now) makes me cry a little, that these three dudes are clearly doing this just because they love it and you can hear it in every song.

When: Right now! Little Brothers’ debut EP, “Nostalgia Trip 2011″, is available right this second from bandcamp, on a pay-what-you-like system, and it seems like they’re recording more this summer. Visit them on bandcamp or facebook.

Any regular / long-term reader of this blog will know that I’m a really big Ladyfingers (aka Adam Weiner) fan; I’ve written about a couple of Ladyfingers albums already and love them so much, I never feel like I’ve managed to do them justice. Adam’s a great talent, has a fantastic and utterly unique voice, and makes music I can honestly say I’ve never heard the likes of before.

Now he’s teamed up with a whole group of dudes (there’s not too much information available about them just yet) to create Low Cut Connie, a bona fide, gen-u-wine rock & roll band. Putting on their debut LP, Get Out The Lotion, you feel immediately transported to a dark, dingy, kind of seedy bar in some backwater town. They’re playing in the back and every once in a while, someone throws a beer bottle.

Actually, my brain makes an immediate connection between Low Cut Connie and the earliest Beatles – way back in Hamburg or the Cavern Club. Known for being quite wild before Brian Epstein made them all shiny and tidy, the Beatles during that time were pure rock & roll. Listening to Low Cut Connie feels very much the same, like there’s nothing but undiluted rock in their veins – except that Low Cut Connie doesn’t have to be censored the way that even the wild Beatles would’ve been. I mean, they’re adorable and all but, c’mon, we all know the young Beatles weren’t as innocent and sweet as they looked. Low Cut Connie is just that little bit filthy, in the best way possible – making Get Out The Lotion feel both modern and old at the same time.

Low Cut Connie is getting some seriously good press already – they’ve apparently received great reviews from Rolling Stone and Robert Christgau – and not for nothin’. I’ve been a Ladyfingers fan for many years now, and I really hope this will be the project that finally gets Adam Weiner and his pals the recognition they deserve. Go grab the album now (pay what you want) from their official site and check them out on tour at a town near you.

When I’m able, I like to watch the UK Top 40 on Monday nights – you know, to keep up with what those crazy kids are listening to these days. If I consider each song on its own, I’m pretty much ok with chart music right now. No one song is so bad that I really hate it*, some are even catchy as hell.

On the other hand, I look at the chart as a whole and I’m all, ‘Wha’ happen?!’ Since when is a single sound represented in the charts? And I mean that almost literally: during a recent countdown, I counted about 6 songs out of 40 that did not use the same clubby dance beat. And on top of that, the beat kind of makes them all sing the same – to the point where choruses actually do all sound the same, note-wise. And what’s weird is that it’s almost as if artists are now afraid not to sound exactly like everyone else, if recent tracks by Snoop Dogg (ahem) and Flo Rida are anything to go by. I know that chart music is not always the most diverse, and every old fart like myself says it was better in their day, but seriously – this is out of hand. It’s like unique-ness is now a flaw in an artist, no longer their potential selling point.

While thinking about all this important stuff, I’ve also noticed something else weird (and same-y) about chart songs right now: they’re all about partying, getting wasted, dancing all night, having the night of our lives. Last Friday Night, Party Rock Anthem, On The Floor, Don’t Stop The Party. There are few artists that even pretend they’re offering any substance right now. Tracy Chapman, Aloe Blacc, and even Adele feel very out of place when you watch along on MTV. Doesn’t anyone have an opinion about anything anymore? Don’t these artists think about stuff? I really wish the youth of today had something to say that wasn’t about partying but – based on the charts, at least – I’m really not sure they do. Which is pretty much the most depressing thing ever.

But, if you think back a-ways, this isn’t actually new, it’s just a little worse than before. Here’s a weird little thought that’s been floating around in my head for years: there were a lot of songs about dancing in the 80s. Seriously, a lot – everybody just dancing all the time.

Lionel was dancing on the ceiling:

while Bruce danced in the dark:

and Billy danced with himself** :

Whitney wanted to dance with somebody who loved her:

but David was inviting us all to just dance already:

And, of course, Madonna was into the groove, Michael Sembello told us the story of the maniac on the floor, Kenny Loggins got footloose … the list goes on. Maybe we just always loved dancing and always will. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still some hope for those kids out there right now.

After all, we all turned out ok, right?

* Other than that godawful Snoop Dogg song that’s popular right now. It’s so crap I can’t even be bothered to check the title. Please stop playing it. Seriously. Please stop.

** And some zombies, apparently. What the hell is going on in this video?!

If you stop by here frequently – or, heck, even if you stop by infrequently – you may have noticed that I have a difficult time updating regularly. We used to be really good about that, with a rotating schedule that made sure we got new content up pretty damn often. But with just me left of our little team, my partners having moved on to bigger and better ventures, and a dwindling sense of why I’m actually writing this blog, it’s been tricky. Don’t get me wrong, I love 100b. But there’s something I’ve been thinking in the back of my mind for a while that I finally admitted to myself recently:

I don’t really enjoy writing about new bands that much.

Phew, I said it, what a relief – even though it’s only about 78% true. I do like finding wonderful, secret treasures that are new to me. I’ve discovered some really fantastic – and now dearly loved – bands through mails sent here, and I’d be so sad to see that go. On the other hand, any music blogger will tell you that it’s almost impossible to keep up with the mail. 100b is just a small blip in the music blogosphere, but even I can’t listen to and assess half of what comes in. I do my best to screen and I hope I’ve caught the stuff I’d want to have heard most, but there’s no way to do any better. I was, I have to admit, starting to feel burdened by the inbox – as if I never had time to write any posts because I was forever trying to keep the mail under control.

There have been some serious rewards in there, and I do enjoy getting someone’s name out that I feel deserves and needs the attention. What I really don’t enjoy, as it turns out, is the feeling that I have to get to the newest and coolest bands first or else I might as well not bother. Because, let’s face it, I’m never going to get there first. I just can’t compete, and, honestly, I don’t write that sort of newest-hippest-band post very well anyway. I either like them, in which case someone’s long since already written it better, or I don’t like them and I really can’t be bothered wasting my time on something I don’t like. It took me over five years to realize, but that whole scene is just not for me.

But I do love music, more than almost anything, and I do love writing about it. I’ve been thinking for months now about what angle I do really enjoy writing from: I thought about my favorite posts, which bands I liked writing about most, which read as most personal and enthusiastic … and I finally figured out what direction to take. It might be a while before I get there – there’s a small pile of backed up post drafts and intriguing emails to get through first – but I wanted to get the ball rolling a wee bit now.

Mostly because – new bands, pretty please listen here – if you send an email this way, and it is dated after, say, this coming weekend (June 26th), I absolutely will not write a post about it. My new focus will, by its very definition, exclude writing about new music. I do really, really wish I could do better by the hopeful new bands that pass this way, but I just can’t anymore and never really could anyway. If you send mail after this weekend-ish, I will try to read it and promote anything I think is good via Twitter. I can’t promise anything more than that and if that means you don’t want to risk your music getting lost in the interwebs, I totally understand. I hope I’ll hear about you some other way.

So there we go. I’m pretty excited about the changes I’ll be making – even if the readership is tiny or gets even tinier, I think I will enjoy writing for it more, and I expect it will show. Enthusiastic writers write enthusiastic posts, right? I hope mine will be infectious.

Do you remember The Soup Dragons? If you’re from the UK and / or of a certain age (the certain age that means you actually remember buying albums on cassette), you probably do. If not, this band probably passed you by completely. Which would be a shame because, while Hotwired isn’t necessarily one of the very best albums ever, it’s a classic of my 1990s and can definitely still stand up tall today.

Although I only really listened to Hotwired, a little research shows that The Soup Dragons were more than I realized – or, at least, here in the UK they were. Nevermind that they were already six years old by the time I heard of them, or that Hotwired was actually their third LP – they’d also had a pretty decent hit in the UK with “I’m Free” in 1990. The Wikipedia says that single charted higher on the U.S. Modern Rock chart, whatever that is, but I definitely don’t remember it being a presence. I do, however, know every note of it, though I couldn’t have even told you it existed before yesterday. Isn’t it weird how that happens sometimes, as if you just absorb songs somehow without ever consciously hearing them?

Anyway, it turns out that the band had had some indie-world success even earlier than that, and – enough to secure their place in indie music history alone – were included on the NME’s legendary C86 cassette compilation. If you don’t know about that cassette, check out this great post from Indie-MP3. (Also, you can still download the whole compilation from Stupid and Contagious, though I can’t promise for how long.) The track included on C86 is wildly different from how we came to know them on Hotwired in 1992 – very much a Buzzcocks-inspired messy-punky-poppy sound which is very pleasant but, honestly, not terribly unique. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great track, but I doubt I’d have remembered it if I didn’t already love them from their later work.

I don’t know exactly what caused the change in sound, other than just the change of times and trends, but when they hit upon the sound featured on Hotwired, they made a classic album. Personally, I had no idea The Soup Dragons existed before “Divine Thing” came along and rocked my MTV. I didn’t know from baggy, or rave culture, or C86. I had no concept of British music being cool or anything in particular; I’d never heard of The Stone Roses or the NME. But I do remember this album soundtracking the summer of 1992 (along with Stereo MCs’ Connected). And you know what? It’s actually still pretty great. The sound might be a little bit dated, but not nearly as much as I’d expect after nearly 20 years – and even if it is a little dated, it’s in a wonderfully nostalgic way (rather than a cringey embarrassing way). These guys deserve to remembered fondly.

For many, many years, I’ve claimed that Pearl Jam’s Ten was my first album purchase but it recently occurred to me – holy crap! – have I been lying about that all this time?!

Not that my real #1, now that I see my mistake, isn’t just as cool. My deception was accidental, I assure you – I promise I was not trying to look cooler than I am. Please. I freely admit I adored New Kids On The Block. The cool ship has sailed.

So anyway, I recently went on a miniature album shopping spree and, at the last minute, threw The B-52′s Cosmic Thing into my cart. It was by the register and stuff. Listening to it the next day, I couldn’t get over how fresh, fun, and surprisingly not dated it sounded. Honestly, I bought it thinking it would be a nostalgic giggle and not much more. “Love Shack”, anyone? But that never was the best track on Cosmic Thing and I should’ve remembered that.

Taken aback by how much I still loved it, and not in a kitschy sort of way at all, I looked it up and – wha?! – found out that it was released in 1989. That’s a whole TWO years before Pearl Jam released the amazingness that is Ten. Even if my 9-year-old self took a while to catch on and buy Cosmic Thing, it still came first. Whoopsie. Sorry I lied to y’all for so long.

When I thought about it a bit more, I actually remembered the exact day I bought it – on cassette! From Phar-Mor!! I had a little pocket money I’d gotten as a gift or something, I’d guess around $10, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted some specific Barbie or the B-52′s album. I guess I wasn’t really your typical 9-year-old girl. I must’ve been dimly aware that I’d already prolonged the decision-making process out to a near-painful point, because I remember choosing the Barbie, in part, just to be done with it so my father and I could go home already. I was known for this type of separation anxiety when it came to my pocket money. But, perhaps predictably, I regretted it almost immediately and was in quiet, trying-to-hold-them-back tears by the time we got home a few minutes later. I wonder if I’d have done the same if I’d gone the other way in the store? I guess not, because Dad was crazy nice about it and took me back to exchange the Barbie (though he really must’ve wanted to shake me silly by that point) and I never looked back. I mean, I totally still played with Barbies, but I didn’t want one more than I wanted that album. I guess I was a budding music dork long before I knew what that meant.

But back to the album. Maybe not as ass-kicking as Pearl Jam, but Cosmic Thing is still – after 22 years, that’s a scary thought – a really great album. It feels just like the time, but also like it totally could’ve come out this year – both nostalgic and timeless somehow. Fred Schneider’s freaky speak-singing really should be annoying or gimmicky, but it fits here, alongside Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson’s angelic harmonies, to make something unusual and pretty, poppy and alternative. “Roam” is still my favorite track, it’s just too dreamy, though I have always loved the quirkiness of “Junebug”. Whatever, the whole album’s classic – get it yourself right here.

Listening to a little Björk last night while whipping up some fruit dip (as you do), I started thinking about how I used to really not like Björk. Really, really not. I always thought she was cool, but her music was a little too freaky for me. I wasn’t quite ready for a voice as unusual as hers.

Which was a long, long time ago, back when she first started appearing in the charts. I suppose that idea just got stuck in my head, which happens sometimes. Until I happened upon a version of “Human Behaviour” by Colin Meloy. I put in on a mix and it really showed me what a great song it is – and what I’d been missing in Björk for years. It took some time, but I’ve finally come to love her crazy voice and seemingly limitless talent.

While thinking all this, stirring up my dip, I realized that I could tell the exact same story about Joanna Newsom. I found her fascinating, but couldn’t imagine a whole album of that tiny voice. When I found out that The Decemberists’ “Bridges and Balloons” was actually Joanna Newsom’s, I turned right around and got myself The Milk-Eyed Mender, which I now love dearly.

So, cheers very much, Colin Meloy, for making me realize what I was missing!

It’s no secret that I love Cornershop. Yeah, I say I’m a big fan of a lot of bands, and it’s always true, but this is special. Like on equal footing with how I feel about the Beatles. One of those rare, one-in-a-million bands whose music you love so much it almost makes you feel a little sick to your stomach.

Me and Cornershop go way back. In fact, I remember the day – like most people, I got into the band via “Brimful of Asha”, just as it was turning into a monster single, and it was my night out with my friends for my 18th birthday. A little silly on the bus ride home, my friends and I couldn’t stop singing the ‘on a 45′ bit of that song, it being the only part we really knew yet. It didn’t take long for me to get myself When I Was Born For The 7th Time and, as they say, I’ve never looked back. I would pledge my undying love to Cornershop’s music (erm, if I had to for some reason), so 8 pounds seems like nothing.

Cornershop is asking us, their listeners, to pledge as little as 8 pounds to get a minimum of a pre-order of the new album they’re working on with – my heart just stopped a little – Bubbley Kaur. She of the magical single “Topknot”, one of my most beloved songs of all time. In fact, this new album seems to be based around the amazing results of that recording, finally turning it into a full-length LP. For 8 pounds you’ll get yourself the album and the knowledge that you had a little part in making it happen. For more money, you’ll get more stuff, but the list of possibilities is pretty fun to look through so I’ll let you check it out yourself.

This pledging / investing-in-the-making-of-albums isn’t really brand spanking new; I’ve seen similar offers by other bands. It’s a really interesting thing going on, releasing bands from big labels who don’t seem to give much of a crap about the bands they represent nor the listeners who pay for the music. Wouldn’t you much rather give your money directly to a band you care about and have a wee hand in helping get an album made? Cornershop is the first band to do this that I do feel that strongly about, and I will definitely be making my pledge asap, – how about you? There’s only 27 days remaining so have a think about how great it will be to hear Cornershop and The Double ‘O’ Groove Of for the first time and get pledging.

Hear Tjinder and Ben tell you all about it themselves, and find out more about the pledge options over at PledgeMusic – and remind yourself how amazing this band has always been below.

Who: Harlan Pepper

What: Indie-folk brought up-to-date with a sense of humor, a blend of styles, and a little more ‘today’ than most.

Where: Hamilton, Canada. The Google tells me this is in Ontario. Canadian geography is a mystery to me.

Why: Because “Great Lakes” – below and available free from Harlan Pepper’s bandcamp page – is totally awesome. Seriously, it’s a fantastic track – just all-around great. Good lyrics, nice wordplay going on with the lake names, and it weirdly makes me feel like home. I guess because Pittsburgh is near Lake Erie – and by ‘near’ I can only mean ‘nearer than I am right now’ because it’s all relative and stuff – or something, it just feels familiar like home. Anyway … I’ve enjoyed Young and Old, Harlan Pepper’s debut, but I should admit that I think “Great Lakes” really is the standout track. That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with the rest of this very young band’s album – “Reefer” is pretty great as well – but I think Harlan Pepper is still trying out styles to see how they fit and not all of it is as successful as “Great Lakes” is. Their music doesn’t feel like a cohesive whole yet, but Young and Old definitely has moments that point to potential I’ll like to see develop.

When: Young and Old is out now, available via bandcamp!

Who: Johnny Hawaii

What: Laid back surfer pop, brought to us by Bad Panda Records

Where: From Marseille, France, not often the origin of Hawaii-infused surfer tunes.

Why: Because Johnny Hawaii knows exactly how to bring the sounds of the beach, somehow. With the first few notes of “The Lonely Smurfer”, I can close my eyes and seriously feel like I’m on a sandy beach, sun shining, a warm breeze on the air, nothing but the sounds of the water and some rustling palm trees around for miles. Not that I’ve ever been anywhere near such a place, but Mr. Hawaii really knows how to evoke the image we all associate with the beaches of his namesake state.

When: Johnny Hawaii’s Smurf’s Up EP is out now and available to listen to or download via bandcamp, or learn more about this intriguing man through this little interview.

We got a mail last week about Darren Hayman’s January Songs project – you know Darren Hayman: “ex-Hefner, godfather of modern indiepop, one of the best songsmiths of the past 15 years, oh you know the one”. Ok, I didn’t know any of those things, but I’m sure you do. I’ve been meaning to listen to some Hefner for a while now, but haven’t gotten to it yet. Isn’t it funny how you can somehow miss out on something everyone else has been listening to for ages?

Anyway, so there’s this Darren Hayman guy who everyone already knows everything about, and he’s doing a project right now – January – called, unsurprisingly, January Songs. The goal is to write and record a song for every day this month. It’s already the 19th, but it’s not to late to listen along – you can check out the full schedule here. He’s apparently been keeping a video diary throughout, and has gathered a whole bunch of people to collaborate with on this slightly crazy, but very cool and ambitious project. Especially when whipping out a song in a day can sound as good as this one, recorded with Allo Darlin’s Elizabeth Morris. I don’t think there’s a person out there who can’t relate to this one.

You might remember that I was really, really taken with Lost In The Trees when I first heard them back in November. This is just a little update as we’ve just had news that, because of their 2010 successes, Trekky Records will be re-releasing Lost In The Trees’ first EP, 2007′s Time Taunts Me. It’s a little more than just a re-issue though:

“Over the past three years, between extensive touring and multiple releases, Picker found himself returning to the bedroom recordings of Time Taunts Me, fleshing out and augmenting the baroque compositions until they were as big as they sounded in his head. Picker also recorded three new songs, written during the Time Taunts Me sessions but never put to tape, expanding the seven-song EP into a proper full-length. This is Time Taunts Me the way Picker always envisioned it; and the way the world should hear it now.”

Sounds like something worth hearing indeed. Time Taunts Me will be out on February 1st, presumably through the regular venues as well as a 3-part red-vinyl-LP / CD / MP3 package via Trekky Records.

Not that there wasn’t enough good music out in 2010. It’s been a long-ass time since I made one of those numbered lists – I used to love doing it, but I think I might have taken it a little too seriously and they would always end up taking me so long to compile, it wasn’t worth posting them anymore by the time I was finished. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to mention really great albums by Mark Ronson, Hot Chip, She & Him, Tunng, Son Of Dave, Frightened Rabbit (especially Frightened Rabbit – The Winter Of Mixed Drinks really stuck with me), and The Black Keys (always, always The Black Keys) – all of which got a lot of airplay on my iPod.

I’m thinking as I type this that a badass mix tape (the old school kind) could be made of some of my favorite singles of the year. If I did that, the tracklist would probably look a little something like this:

“The Arsonist”, Our Lost Infantry (thanks to Saam at Faded Glamour for letting us know about this one)
“Superfast Jellyfish”, Gorillaz
“Bang Bang Bang”, Mark Ronson (probably my single of the year, if I had to pick one)
“New York Is Killing Me”, Gil Scott-Heron
“Taos”, Menomena
“Best Friend”, The Drums
“The Opposite Of Adults”, Chiddy Bang
“The Cities That You Burn”, Adam Haworth Stephens
“King Of The Beach”, Wavves
“Kentucky Pill”, Johnny Flynn
“Ghost Train”, Summer Camp
“O.N.E.”, Yeasayer

Among others. Hmm, maybe I should make that mix.

Anyway, the point is that, although I loved all of this music dearly, they aren’t the artists I’m going to forever associate with 2010. It wasn’t really my best year ever and, I suppose I really latched on to the way Tom Petty, Langhorne Slim, and Mark Oliver Everett AKA Eels approach music.

Tom Petty?! Yeah, I know, I’m at least 20 years late and it’s not like I didn’t love Tom Petty before last year. But I got to see that amazing Peter Bogdanovich documentary earlier this year and then couldn’t get enough. Same with Langhorne Slim, whose eponymous 2008 album had been wasting away in my iTunes library until I finally remembered to check it out this summer. I snatched up everything else he’s recorded within weeks and at least one of his albums has been on my iPod ever since, no exaggeration. As for Eels – yeah, I listened to a lot of Eels last year too, but again – Mark Oliver Everett’s voice and songwriting just took hold me of me this year even more than before. I loved Tomorrow Morning but listened to everything I have as much as I could; Eels music is, for me, definitely something I love even more the more I listen.

All three play and sing from the bottom of their hearts, reaching deep, deep down for a level of true emotion (both happy and sad) that most other artists can’t dream of – but they all three also infuse their music and lyrics with the kind of hope that just refuses to give up. And I guess that’s just what spoke – or sang – to me in 2010.