C Lanzbom and Soulfarm will be touring NY with his band Soulfarm on May 11th at Brooklyn's Southpaw with Reality Addiction and special guests from Israel, haMAKOR

C with Soulfarm will also be playing a concert on May 31 as the official after party for The Salute To Israel parade with a line up of great bands such as Pharoahs Daughter, and Electro Morocco

for more info you can find C lanzbom on facebook, twitter, reverbnation, and myspace.

www.myspace.com/soulfarm www.myspace.com/clanzbom

A baby boy was born over shabbos to our favorite empowering Lubovicher rockstar hero....

We wish him and his wife all the blessings in the world.

Below is the NEW MUST SEE video of his newlly remixed song: JERUSALEM.   Check it: 

Truly an amazing imaginative visual display of what the Kotel and Jerusalem are all about....

And while I would love to share my suggestions with every one I know, sometimes I am simply not around. I cannot be everywhere. I just cannot, no matter how hard you wish it. As a result, some--the mistaken few--will purchase music blindly! With eyes shut! With ears that do not know what they are in for! Surprising the ears! In one specific instance, a friend mentioned casually that he had recently purchased a few CDs off of Amazon.com. I asked him which ones? And he showed me his new booty.

In his hand, he had the Bravery's self-titled debut, Phantom Planet's The Guest, the Killers's Hot Fuss and some other stuff that I kinda dislike but nevertheless understand their appeal (damn you, "Mr. Brightside"!). As I looked at his selections, I considered putting my friend to sleep right then and there. A quick shot to the jugular--he wouldn't even feel the pain and better yet, he would never have to suffer again. But then, I conjured up my role-playing skillz and put myself into Mister Average Listener's shoes. All of a sudden, I wasn't receiving free promos in the mail on every other day. I wasn't getting phone calls and emails from publicists keeping me in the loop regarding upcoming releases. Nor was I being asked to attend shows in local venues for free. Mister Average Listener, or "MAL" as I call him, finds out about music from websites and blogs like Pitchforkmedia.com, magazines like GQ and People, or hears something he digs on a song snippet featured on a TV show.

I asked him where he heard about these bands.

"The O.C.," he said.

The O.C. Hmph. Like I said, a TV show.

1. Death Cab For Cutie It's no surprise that the first band on the list is Seth Cohen's favorite (if only he'd stop being a total dork about it). After all, Death Cab For Cutie is almost synonymous with The O.C.. And if it weren’t for the fact that the Seattle group is so incredibly boring live, they would be mainstream contenders. But bottom line; they're boring live, so who knows if they’ll ever make it further than where they are, i.e. on a teenage girl’s iPod. Ultimately, their strength lies in their polished and produced sound. Chris Walla, both their producer and guitarist, is an underrated studio ingénue making each album a shimmering collection of crystalline music. If you're looking for heartfelt, overtly sincere music, or a perfect fall soundtrack for the sensitive-inclined (bonus! Season-relevant!), then start with Transatlanticism. This 2003 release is easily, lead singer Ben Gibbard's best and frailest performance. If you have that one already, then this year's more confident Plans(as confident as an indie-emo band can be) works successfully as a follow-up, albeit a more secure follow-up. The first hit single off that album, “Soul Meets Body,” is actually just that—an electro-pop song that bears its soul while also moving your body.

2. Youth Group The Australian sensation Youth Group are virtual nobodies here. But thanks to an opening slot on DCFC's last tour, their luck should soon change. Their sound, not completely unlike their touring mates, is the hope to Death Cab's hopelessness. The optimistic and anthemic debut album Skeleton Jar is completely accessible and warm. That may not sound like an endorsement but it actually is. Youth Group sounds like a band you could take home to your mother.

3. Pinback Pinback, the Californian group, essentially a partnership between Armistead Burwell Smith IV and Rob Crowe, has been wrongfully tagged as "emo" and but ultimately Pinback's third release is a slinky, rhythmic pop album that is more sunny day harmonies than bored confessionals. Granted, the soft and unobtrusive tones of Summer in Abaddon would work as appropriate background music but when you listen to the delicate record on headphones, the subtle nuances and bittersweet instrumentation warmly envelop you, making this a well-seasoned release that's appropriate all year around.

4. The Album Leaf Perhaps the gentlest release I have ever heard. Listening to the Album Leaf's In A Safe Place is like a mental massage, an audio hammock, a recorded hug. I have personally used this album on many occasions as background inspiration for my writing (yes, you can blame this record). At the core of this collective is Jimmy LaValle, a supremely talented and chilled-out dude who composes these ambient lullabies and then records them with session musicians. His latest, and third album, was tellingly recorded in Iceland and encapsulates the sound of (warning: here comes a cliché) moving glaciers. The potency of this sublime record is so potent (just how potent is it, Arye?) that it just could finally inspire Marisa to truly commit to Ryan forever (I had to make at least one O.C. reference). Recorded with members of Iceland's favorite sons Sigur Ros, In A Safe Place could stir feelings in you in ways your therapist never could.

5. Rogue Wave A few years back, Zach Schwartz probably decided that Schwartz Wave didn’t make the best band name, so he changed his surname to “Rogue” and recorded one of the best, overlooked albums of 2004. Out of the Shadow (Sub Pop) was rife with melodies so effortless and sublime that it played like a kick to the Shins, the likeminded Albuquerque labelmates who were successfully changing Natalie Portman’s life. Descended Like Vultures, Rogue Wave’s second release, is another warped carnival ride into the school of more power, less pop. While not as strong as their debut, the unpretentious Shadows won’t boldly claim to change your life, but it will sure make it a lot more pleasant.

6. Matt Pond PA After one look at a map of Pennsylvania, you’ll discover that Matt Pond PA doesn’t really exist. But if it were indeed present, what kind of city would it be? Well, for one, Matt Pond, PA would experience autumn all year long where the trees would prophetically wither and the leaves would gently fall (in fact, lead singer, and band name-inspiration, Matt Pond¬ references trees and leaves in many of the lyrics). Throughout Pond PA’s fifth full-length release, Several Arrows Later, Pond strums his acoustic guitar over songs of nostalgia and longing, his earnest voice yearning for summer’s past while the brutal winter looms in the near future. In the titular song, he yelps, “you shouldn’t want to sound like they do/ you should want to sound like you.” Pond takes his own advice and produces a mature autumn album, perfectly seasoned. Start with this record and not with his awful cover of “Champagne Supernova” on The O.C. soundtrack volume 3.

On August 14th, 1995, Oasis and Blur, the two biggest bands in England (that week), put their money where their cockneyed mouths were. Both groups, famous for their dramatic internal rivalry and their distinctly British flavor, i.e. Britpop, found it necessary to prove which was the more popular band. The marketing forces behind Blur and Oasis decided to release a first single from their respective upcoming albums on the same day and let the public chose. Whoever debuted on the charts at #1 would be crowned England's favorite sons.

Unfortunately, Oasis chose "Roll With It" from What's the Story Morning Glory?, undeniably the weakest single from this hit-heavy record, while Blur picked The Great Escape’s "Country House,” a playful, catchy song that carried along a semi-political message about excess. Granted, Morning Glory would go on to sell more records than The Great Escape, but ultimately, the better song, Blur's "Country House," premiered on the pop charts right above "Roll With It."

And ever since, this victory has haunted the Gallagher brothers—Noel and Liam. And ever since, Oasis has shied away from any experimentation that might risk their slot at the top of the charts. On the other hand, Damon Albarn, lead singer of Blur, proceeded to reinvent himself and the band from album to album, and ultimately created a truly novel outfit with the Gorillaz. In the last half-decade, Albarn's output screamed of creative restlessness, displaying his admirable been-there-done-that eclectic thirst. While Oasis sang about looking back in anger, it seems that Albarn has decided not to look back at all.

....................................

Sounds like a bad idea, right? Create a fictional band of musical gorillas, animate them as a cartoon and then record that fictional band's album with a rotating cast of musicians, including De La Soul, Neneh Cherry, MF Doom, Del tha Funkee Homosapien, and Dennis Hopper. You need to give credit to Albarn for not only successfully pulling this off once (with the self-titled debut), but for also producing a sequel that comes close to impressive. Combining the genres of trip-hop, rap, funk, punk, dance and pop, the Gorillaz's second album, Demon Days, is an admirable and interesting mess. The record, led by the hit "Feel Good, Inc." (currently featured in the latest iPod commercial), is a spastic, danceable soundtrack for people who both liked the concept of Josie & the Pussycats and also use words like "zombie" and "doomsday" when discussing politics. Albarn's side project revels in the dark side of the force, but never loses its sense of humor (a cartoon band of gorillas discussing the dangers of a loaded weapon in the household, anyone?).

Having a sense of humor is something the Gallagher Brothers would know little about. Don't Believe the Truth, their sixth record comprised of laughable re-creations of yesteryear's hits, doesn't warrant all the fanfare surrounding their big comeback. (By the way, didn't they release an album just a couple of years ago?) After listening to this sub-decent record, I can only wonder when these songs were actually written; are they leftovers from the Definitely Maybe sessions? There hasn't been an ounce of change in the Oasis aesthetic since 1993. This kind of stagnancy is baffling.

Furthermore, at this point, the cliché lyrics ("...I'm at the crossroads waiting for a sign/My life is standing still, but I'm still alive") and nasal-heavy vocals of Don't Believe are simply irritating. Will Lou Reed please file a suit against Oasis for the royalties to "Mucky Fingers"? (And my God! Why would anyone let Noel sing? His vocals on "Mucky Fingers" make me want to break out into a homicidal rage.) Where are Mick Jagger's writing credits for “Lyla"?— a track that comes so close to the Rolling Stones' "Street Fighting Man" that it should have been listed as a cover. Oasis focuses on giving their fans exactly what they want, though only half-heartedly supplying the demand. In fact, this testament to laziness sounds like there was barely any effort involved in creating Don't Believe (I mean, when was the last time you broke a sweat over using a photocopy machine?). Perhaps we need to accept that the Beatles-redux shtick was great for two albums—Definitely Maybe and What's The Story Morning Glory?—or maybe we should make peace with the fact that Oasis will leave a legacy of two great albums (and a handful of singles), declare their day done, and then move on to another band that’s at least trying to hold our attention. And a band like Albarn's Gorillaz does just that. While not a classic, astounding album, Demon Days entertains the listener. It's experimental without being off-putting. Fun and silly, without being ridiculous. It's no “wonder wall” of sound, but it is another victory, thus leaving the score at Albarn-2, Gallaghers-0. Arye Dworken

To read more from Arye Dworken, check out his new personal website www.bringbacksincerity.com

Beck Hansen is a beautiful man. His disarming boyish looks defy his actual age (it's hard to believe that he is indeed 34). His impossibly innocent eyes communicate that he is beyond record sales, marketing campaigns, or anything that could potentially taint his artistic pureness. Beck is an anomaly in the record industry; He constructs a pastiche of randomness and wins a Grammy for it (Odelay). Thereafter, he records a follow-up of retro-mutant psychedelica and gets raves reviews (the appropriately entitled Mutations). Then--the nerve!--he makes a record that is so screamingly ironic that surely it has to be sincere, a dance party jam embossed in hot pink pleather that sounds like the king to Prince's prince (Midnite Vultures). What could Beck possibly do next after releasing a make-out album for freaky robots from the future? Naturally, make an acoustic document of pain so stark and depressing that fans could only ask, hey, dude, are you, like, okay (Sea Change)?

Beck is the doe-eyed wunderkind that could defy and violate any genre, claiming it as his own. But more incredibly, Beck is consistantly prolific and surprising, a rock historian, a musical tour guide, a thief robbing the vaults of the past, combining virtually everything he can find into a vibrant collage. So then the only question we have left to ask is, how is Guero, Beck's newest, just a good album?

At the end of the second track "Que Onda Guero," a blip-encrusted rap/mariachi hybrid, Beck free flows his random verbiage over car horns and Mexican conversational samples. At the end of the song, one of the Mexican characters name-checks mullets and Yanni--it's an embarrassing moment for Beck, one that would appeal to the posing vintage-miners in an Urban Outfitters (akin to the time when Eminem released a song almost a year too late picking on Moby and NSYNC). Surely someone with this much relevance and street-cred could find someone more interesting to reference. We loved Beck because he was always laughing at us, not laughing with us. The problem seems that with Guero, we're in on the joke, while in the past, we listened and smiled politely because it wouldn't be until months later that we would understand the punchline.

Guero is not a bad album. It's a good album. It's the "comeback" Beck was meant to make. Heck, it's the comeback we expected Beck to make.
The opener, "E-Pro," grooves and even comes close to annihilating in the same way the ferocious "The New Pollution" sizzled our ears (never mind that "Send A Message To Her" opens exactly like "Devil's Haircut"). "Girl,' a bouncy, summer soundtrack inevitability shines like an out take from Mutations. "Hell Yes" would fit in seamlessly into Midnite Vultures and "Broken Drum," with its echoey somberness, carries the same burden and toil found throughout Sea Change. In fact, the eclectic nature of Guero plays like a greatest hits album of unfinished ideas for songs left over from previous albums. Replicas of vibes and chords and beats and sounds from the spider-webbed attic of Hansen's mind. The perennial loser's new album isn't where it's at. It's where it's been.

The rock critic cliché would be to dismiss Guero as a bump on the road that is Beck's career or to feign over it with such enthusiasm that we're left to wonder if Interscope is purchasing a ton of ad space in said rock critic's magazine. Oddly enough, there is an extreme polar reaction to the album--yay or yawn. Never in-between.

It's undeniable that Beck is a visionary and an excellent artist. He has proved that time and time again with his prolific output of genre-straddling. Guero will make many best-of-the-year lists because in the grand scope of artistry, he is a fascinating character. While Hansen’s latest offering does nothing to enforce that, it never contradicts it.

Most tellingly, on Guero's seventh song "Hell Yes," Christina Ricci is sampled as a Japanese waitress saying "please enjoy," sounding like a request made more than a demand. The two words could effectively sum up the listening experience; While in the past, we were compelled to enjoy Beck's music. The plea never had to be made.

Although this time around, with Guero, maybe we need to be asked nicely.

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To read more from Arye Dworken, check out his new personal website www.bringbacksincerity.com

Being emotional is way uncool.

It’s why guys won’t cry in front of other guys. No male on the planet wants to be accused of getting in touch with his feminine side especially when there’s steak to eat and football games to watch. Why, being emotional is like being famous for crocheting (“hey, man. Great crocheting job. High five!”).These are some of the things you don’t have to be so public about. Sewing a yarmulka for your younger brother is one of them. Crying during Dawson’s Creek finale is another.

In fact, I’ll let you all in on a secret: men won’t agree to see a “tearjerker (an actual section in Blockbuster)” at a theater near you because they’re afraid the flick may move them. A movie theater full of strangers, some male and some female, and your eyes are moist without your permission. Our machismo tells us that we don’t want to be caught in public with our tear ducts down.

Moreover in this cold detached age of instant messaging (of which I am king), cell phones, online dating and emails, emotion has never felt more distant. It’s a sentiment of Mars-like reach. I have heard of relationships ending by way of email (“you’ve got dumped”). I have seen so many people roll their eyes in a mocking fashion so frequently that it is indeed the fashion, perhaps the new “air-quotes.” I hear of too many people dating for a very long time to then abruptly end it over no particular reason. “It just wasn’t there,” they say. Well, maybe—just-maybe—you “weren’t there.” But that’s another article…

Once in a while, though, something comes along and reminds us about our underused sensitivities, of their potency and beauty. For me, it was my father and his tendency to cry at every celebration. In case I had believed in the old adage that real men didn’t cry, my father served as a vibrant contradiction. Real men do cry. In fact, my father further proved, real men also shop for groceries and do the laundry.

Ravital and Elli Kranzler are also emotional people. After listening to Because You Are With Me, I have no choice but to believe that this is the case. Their new delicate album is so wrought with emotion, that it should come with a free candle so you can turn down the lights, invite some friends over, sit on the floor and talk about things like your feelings and how you sometimes have them. This is a wonderful and necessary thing. You put on a CD, listen to it and something happens. Something warm and sincere. These people actually believe in the sounds they are producing. That mandolin…that’s fo’ real, kid. Jewish music can rarely boast such an achievement (and despite what you think, your Titanic Soundtrack doesn’t rate as Jewish music even though your aunt, who only listens to Jewish music, owns it).

This brings me to the direction of my review. What I have attempted to do here is to write a review in real time. This means that as I listened to the album, I took down notes and typed my random thoughts. The following is more of a reactionary thought process than one constructed. Doesn’t it seem logical to judge an album recorded emotionally by responding emotionally? As the Webster dictionary states “emotion” is “an affective state of consciousness in which joy, sorrow, fear, etc. is experienced as distinguished from cognitive states of consciousness.”

Well put. Now allow me to embark on my cognitive, yet distinguished, states of consciousness:

- A while back I referred to Elli Kranzler’s voice as “honey-glazed sweetness” (yes, I am being self-referential). His daughter Ravital’s, is that and a dozen Krispy Kremes. I’m certain if I had either one of their voices, Yerachmiel Begun would be knocking down my door. Oh, per chance to dream.

- According to the liner notes, son and brother, Yannai, plays harmonica on the first song. And he’s in the army, by the way. Yes, he plays the harmonica. And he shoots a gun defending his country. What can I do besides make a casarol? Sometimes I feel so little. Bonus: Yannai just got engaged (thank you, Isaac Galena for obsessively checking out OnlySimchas.com)

- This is by far the definitive Erev Shabbat album. It’s completely calming and soothing mood makes it the perfect transitional tool from maintaining a hectic work week to relaxing at the Shabbat table with a nice container of Chumus Solo (with chick peas, please).Although, being that I am usually running late, an album this tranquil could inspire further tardiness. (“I know it’s 12:30. But did I miss Kabalat Shabbat?”).

- Im Amarti (Song Six); a Short Play
Natalie Merchant to Ravital Kranzler: “Bring it.”
Ravital Kranzler to Natalie Merchant: “It’s already been brrrrrrou-wwwwt.” [Curtain closes]
The End

- I’ve always wanted to check out the Pottery Barn. You know, just to see what they sell.

- I remember when I was in camp, way back in the day, we used to put the campers to sleep and then meet up afterwards in the dining room to sing and have cake. We would sit around for hours recalling the music our parents listened to in the car, in the house. The Jewish music we all grew up with. We would hit the high notes, we would harmonize, we would laugh at one another for trying to hit the high notes and harmonizing. They were wonderful times. Times that truly define the potential beauty of Shabbat. I wish this album was around back then. We would’ve had at least another 55 minutes of songs to sing.

- It’s been rumored that Ravital would prefer not to sing before a live audience, which is a shame. Seeing these songs live could be a true spiritual experience. But then again, what do I know about spirituality…I went to YU (haha. Just kidding, President Joel. Honest).

- “Hamachadesh” exemplifies the stellar production on this album. It also demonstrates how you could make Jewish music sound a bit like a pensive Alanis Morrisette. No easy feat considering Alanis is Canadian and I’m told that they don’t even know what “pensive” means.

- On the second to last song “Ahavti,” when Elli writes in the liner notes: “Did you ever sing your heart out and realize, “I found it! I found my voice!” he is in no way shape or form encouraging the guy who sits behind me in shul to sing along with the Chazan. Because he has a really bad voice.

- Being emotional is exhausting. Definitely not as easy as they make it looks like on daytime TV.

- I’m thinking of renting “Beaches.” Talk me out of it.

My emotional musings, it appears, are actually not so distinguished. Upon first glance of the above, I notice that this experiment does not do justice to the sound of this album for a number of reason: A) because I have this weird compulsive habit of making wisecracks in music reviews which tends to complicate a serious review revolved around emotion. B) If I had reflected the true nature of the album in this review, we would be in tears and this would turn into a very special Oprah episode about weight loss or single motherhood. And finally, C) the Kranzlers’ respective voices are so angelic that the Seraphim in heaven are collectively wondering “what’s up with that?” as they overhear the new record.

I was thinking in context to Because… that Elvis Costello once said writing about music is like dancing about architecture. As a general rule, I think he’s wrong. Look, I write about music all the time--I don’t seem to have the problem doing it. But, paradoxically, Because You Are With Me comes to Costello’s defense; I could elaborate on the Kranzler experience with every colorful word I could muster--words, for example, like “colorful”--but in the end, you would still need to hear it yourself. Elli and Ravital are aiming for your emotions, they want to inspire your feelings. They want you to get in touch with yourself like Dr. Phil could never imagine. Find your voice, they provoke. See a side of yourself that you don’t usually have the time for. Give your emotions the proper catalyst. This is that catalyst. Use it. Listen to it.

Now excuse me while I end here. I am this close to finishing the crocheting of this yarmulka…

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To read more from Arye Dworken, check out his new personal website www.bringbacksincerity.com

I had forgotten all about this nightmare. That is, until I put on the Jason Mraz’s (sounds like "more a**") Waiting For My Rocket to Come. Song after song, this is the blueprint for the new genre known as "americagenerica." In fact, if this album were any more generic, it would be wrapped in Duane Reade packaging with an "Adult Alternative" label emblazoned on it. But how did this album become so popular if it's as awful as I accuse? Well, ya' see, our standards are so low after we've neglected them for so long. Really, anything will do. Take me, for example: at this point, I'll go out with anyone.

And what makes this album even more insulting is the smug delivery, the way Mraz spews "witty" lyrics from the mouth on his pretty face. Take this line from "I’ll Do Anything," for example: "Are you in mood for some dude/ are you in the mood to be subdued?/…let us jet set/ we’ll be like the Jetsons/you can be Jane my wife/should I marry Jane tonight." This is actually just one of the many elbow-in-your-ribs that make up this perfect fodder for SUV’s everywhere (preferably, though, on the way to the beach wearing an Aeropostale bathing suit).

Hey, he plays his own instruments, he writes his own songs. Isn’t there some merit in that? Yes, one could argue these valid points. One could but one shouldn’t. What takes away the guilty pleasure factor in a pop album of this nature is the level of integrity it strives for. Mraz "earnestly" yelps every word as if these songs are the lifeblood, the essence of his existence but then upon closer inspection, you know, you truly deep down know that he recorded these tunes just so they can be featured prime time on the WB. That sort of trickery doesn’t bode well with me.

  And I do have to admit; I don’t know what’s going on in Mraz’s head but upon superficial hearing (which is just about all I can take), I am left feeling empty. This pain in my stomach can only come from a label creation taken out of an Abercrombie catalogue (I know—my second clothing reference) or from hunger. In this case, it’s both. I need something more or I need something less.

Mraz is somewhere in-between, a listening experience that at the end of the record makes me feel like my brain too had been eaten by a John Mayer zombie. And that would be bad because God knows I need it for organizing my upcoming kegger.

[PS if you still had any respect for Liz Phair, the indie goddess, even after the last self-titled release, consider this: she opened for Jason Mraz on his last tour. The horror. ]

COMING UP NEXT:  Is the next Jewish Music Revolution being led by Dov Rosenblatt; a review of the new Blue Fringe album.

Dear Music Snob,

So, I just got back from Israel, B”H, and moved into my YU dorm. I’m in Muss Hall, if you must know. Laugh all you want. Trust me, it gets worse. My roommate—and don’t get me wrong here, I love Russians. I even applied to YUSSR once but pulled out when I found out about…you know…the whole ixnay on the deoderant-ay issue—anyway, my roommate, Boris Meltsin…haha, I know. He told me he gets it all the time…is kinda cool. He knows karate. He said he served in the Russian army the summer in between Seventh grade and Eighth grade. But all he listens to is this heavy metal garbage all sung in Russian. I’m like, gevalt, Boris, what’s he saying? And he says something about sacrificing all the first born and Satan eating Sunday brunch…and I’m like, I am not mekabel. So, we have been working on playing some music in the room that I like. Some Jewish music.

Gasp, I know. You don’t like Jewish music. Which is why you are the Music Snob. And it’s also why you are never called up to the Torah. No, it’s true.

Anyway, before I left for Israel, I was a very different boy. I listened to Dave Matthews, Phish, James Taylor, Pearl Jam, R.E.M. You know, stuff like that. Rock music. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I mean, if you still like that kind of thing, that’s all right. It’s not as bad as bad as eating trief….or is it? But I found this album and I am thrilled because it’s the perfect combination of everything I love. It reminds me of the rock music I used to listen to in the past while simultaneously speaking about Jewish topics and even biblical passages (ha! I know! That sounds so goyish). The CD I speak of, Blue Fringe’s “My Awakening,” is truly great. I mean, it stands out from the rest of the Jewish music Boris and I listen to. Boris always says, this is a CD I could stand, just don’t put on that Miami Boys Cryer. And I say, no, Boris, its “choir.” Yeah, he says,  like I said “cryer.” Ahhh, Boris, you little mechutzaf.

So, I’m writing to you, Music Snob, because I know how much most Jewish music gives you…how did you say it…stomach aches in your ears? And I want to know what you think of Blue Fringe’s album? 

Hatzlachah Rabah,
Back In Black Hat

RESPONSE:

Dear Muss Boy,

I’m glad you wrote. Coincidentally, I actually did a summer in YUSSR and I know Boris well! Tell him I say “hi” and I still haven’t found that Kemodo dragon he hid in my duffel. Ha! Good times.

You bring up the Blue Fringe album. Ah yes. First off, I have to be fair in revealing that I know Dov personally and the rest of the band. They’re all true gentlemen. And I hear Dov is single. Ladies, get on that.

Back to the album: yes, you’re right about me being a music snob. And I’m not embracing that title because it makes me look so cool like I’m a tortured artist. Like saying, man, I am such a rebel. You know what? Forget “music snob.” I’d like to think that I have discerning tastes After listening to as music as I have over the years, it’s just harder to find something that exceeds what has already been done. Ok, so I am a music snob. But…

Jewish music, for example—and yes, this is an absolute generalization to which there are exceptions (Elie Kranzler’s voice, specifically, can still effectively break my heart in the sweetest way)—is unsatisfying because of the production. The execution. It’s like the thought is there but then it just falls flat. Would you write your thesis in crayon? No, I didn’t think so. Although, if it was in macaroni n’ cheese yellow (an actual color!)…

Blue Fringe, on the other hand, deserves a real pat on the back (or rather a yasher koach ) for pushing the genre to the outer limits of truly enjoyable rock music. Way out to the fringes that are….err…that are blue. And that is so commendable.

The strumming on the first song on the album, “Shma Koleinu,” actually feels like the opening of a Smiths’ song. And the vocals are all breathy and sultry like singer, Dov Rosenblatt, is serenading a girl on his cordless phone while walking up and down the halls of Rubin Hall. G-d! What imagery!

Then the next song, “Ani Maamin “(my favorite on the album), has an actual guitar solo, courtesy of axeman, Avi Hoffman, that wouldn’t be out of place on a Joe Satriani record—ok, I apologize for the secular music references. I’ll stop putting a stumbling block before a blind man. Moreover, despite the cliché lyrical content—I mean, who hasn’t written a song using the words of Ani Maamin? I’ll tell you who; OZZY! —The tune’s harmonies and the non-chalant delivery make it a song that you vicariously enjoy because you hear the band having such a good time while playing it.  Track 5, “Vayivarech,” sounds musically like a lost R.E.M. or a Rembrandts song that took an ulpan . No, that’s a good thing.

Incidentally, Back In Black Hat, I should say that Dov’s vocals are very strong and I assure you that he has the most goyish lungs in the Jewish music genre. I think that they’re more enjoyable, though, on the Hebrew songs. The English songs kinda remind me too much of the bands that I know Dov likes but I don’t (see my Jason Mraz review)*. But that’s more or less my only criticism on My Awakenings. 

Trust me, it could be way worse.  I mean, have you heard the new  ___________ (insert new Jewish music release here)?

So, BIBH, thanks for bringing up the Blue Fringe album. It’s a winner and I’m proud of the little pishers. And by the way, the CD you brought up about Satan having brunch—that’s mine. Tell Boris I want it back.

Keep it real,
Music Snob

For more info go to http://www.bluefringe.com/

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To read more from Arye Dworken, check out his new personal website www.bringbacksincerity.com

Is that problematic? Does that make me any less trustworthy as a critic? In most instances, I would say that yes, perhaps it does. Perhaps you should listen to someone more skeptical and cynical. Someone who is not so easily sold.

But in the case of Radiohead, that is virtually impossible. Because they always have and always will meet our expectations. And in some cases, even surpass them.

On Thursday June 5th, 2003 Radiohead came to New York City and played the Beacon Theater, the smallest venue we're likely to see them in nowadays. That same night, the Jewish people celebrated Shavuot, the holiday that commemorated the day we received our Torah thousands upon thousands of years ago on Mt. Sinai. I personally was offered a free ticket and was tremendously conflicted about going but I turned the ticket down (I later realized that I wasn't even in town for the show). What was it about this band that made me think about--for a split second-- compromising an undying tradition for what I thought to be a historic show? Why was this performance almost as inspiring as re-enacting the beginning of my religion (I realize the blasphemous nature of this statement and for that I apologize)? I have been thinking about this a great deal; why a collective of five media-shy, unapproachable Englishmen "speak" to me as powerfully as Radiohead does?

I have wrestled with the aforementioned questions, making them beg for mercy, because I want to verbalize my appreciation for Radiohead and I want others to share it with me. I finally want my friends to admit that I’m not as crazy as they thought I was and that there really is much to get inspired and excited by. I want them to trust me because I am telling them to starting listening for their own good. This is important just like vitamins.

[Deep breath] Now, how do I verbalize the passion and the fury? How do I communicate to you the thrill of being a die-hard Radiohead fan so you too will say, I want in. I’m with you, Arye.

 Well, hopefully like this: (Enter presumptuous, sweeping statement here) There is no band like Radiohead existing in our time. Yes, there were bands like Pink Floyd, the Beatles, even U2 (remember when ACHTUNG BABY reinvented the radio?) but no one is testing the limits like Radiohead is within our plateau of mass culture. No band is pushing the envelope, sending a letter of mind-numbing creativity to the masses like these guys are. Their uncompromising artistry is admired by all, envied by most and disliked by few.

And over these two months, while I have been dissecting the instruments, the words, the paintings of sounds, I played Devil's Advocate to my ears accusing them of liking HTTT because simply enough, it was by Radiohead. Because I've never disliked anything this band has produced. Not their first album, PABLO HONEY, a raw, "alternative," radio-friendly and certainly inoffensive effort. Not their second timeless and first masterpiece, THE BENDS, which still gives me the chills. Nor the following record, OK COMPUTER, which is an unadulterated trip into paranoia, insecurity, self-analysis and also their second masterpiece. This album will never cease to amaze me, sort of like a loved one that you fall more in love with every time you see her/him. And then came the double punch of experimental wonderment, KID A and AMNESIAC, which angered some because it was less consistent with their previous efforts. I loved them because they felt like reading diary entries. They were personal, whispered into my ear, almost gossipy. I wanted to hear more but I also felt guilty about hearing it in the first place. These were songs that not everyone could understand but maybe it was because so many did not speak the language. Like a witch hunt of our time, Radiohead was accused of being difficult, trying to test the patience of the public and no one wanted to hear the rational explanation. They were merely saying, you all bought our last album. Well, we need to progress. And here are two that will challenge you. Are you up to it, they asked?

I enthusiastically responded, YES! YES! I am!

Well, rejoice you of the sensitive ear! HTTT is the happy compromise of handholding and the frustrating refusal to be "commercial" that you've been waiting for. It's almost as if Radiohead was accutely aware of all the fans turned off by KID A and AMNESIAC and was saying, seriously, we're sorry about all that. We needed to get it out of our system but please come back. Please play this album in your dorm rooms while sitting on your Urban Outfitters couch.

The first song "2+2=5" is an inspiring beginning. It's a four part epic masterpiece in four and a half minutes. It starts out with a wounded gentle Thom Yorke singing you into a lull of security. A minute and a half in, it stops, and things get eerie. A sunny day transformed into a dark cloudy gloom. And then two minutes and four seconds in, guitars explode like an unrelenting thunderstorm, crashing in on our feeble heads, a toxic rain that so many of us New Yorkers know too well. Following that, the rain becomes consistent and we are no longer afraid to step outside. We embrace the rain. We even open our mouths to taste the drops.

And again, that is just the first song.

As the album progresses, we hear "Sail To The Moon" which feels exactly like the titular activity. The scented-candle-like sway of the guitar and the piano bring you close to the lunar landscape. This could be what an astronaut feels like when gravity denies him a simple activity such as walking on the ground. Thom Yorke's voice is floating and you are floating along with it. It is beauty incarnate. It’s the Rose Planetarium that wants to be heard and not seen.

The most accessible songs, the ones that are like caffeine for the heart or chicken soup for the soulless, "There There" and "Where I End And You Begin,” are epitomes of imposing feelings into music. In the hey-day of pop and Matrixes (the songwriting team that brought you Avril Lavigne), it’s so spring-day-glorious to hear urgency in music, to feel what it is like to be wounded just by listening. When Yorke “sings at the conclusion of “Where I End…” “I will eat you alive…there’ll be no more lies,” you understand the pain of being lied to. You relate to his frustration with being deceived. The song helps you conjure a time when you also wanted to eat someone alive for making you feel like the object of such malicious betrayal.

“There There,” the first single off this album, interestingly enough is a massive statement by the band. “Just ‘cause you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there…” may be a response to the accusatory media that’s bestowed so much political relevance to this album (the band denies that HAIL TO THE THIEF is alluding the George Bush). Or it could be the frustration felt by a band that has been put on the highest of pedestals for creating epic, grand art and ambiguous lyrics that many misinterpret. Whatever the statement is, though, the song with its muddy-consistent rhythm sections drudges along like a dinosaur looking for dinner. It’s hungry, wanting, vicious and plodding.

Despite the rumors awhile back, HTTT is not a rocking album. It has its rocking moments but overall it’s neither bombastic nor spastic. It just maintains the self-conscious weirdness that has made Radiohead so endearing in the past. The band that is aware of its quirks and it is sort-of fine with that.

But what makes this band and album so revelatory is that every member is a genius at what he does. Guitarist Johnny Greenwood is the Jackson Pollock of the six-string, randomly throwing colorful strokes that make a beautiful finished product, a work of chaos that from a distance seems so logical. Drummer, Phil Selway is the unsung, or unheard, hero that carries the others out of the burning building. He saves lives and songs. Ed O’Brian, the other guitarist and tallest member of the band, is the balance to Johnny’s insanity. The two of them together create a penetration of the ears and mind that know no mercy or restraint. And the most enigmatic member, Colin Greenwood (Johnny’s brother) is the foundation of the haunted house that is Radiohead. Many will call Radiohead Yorke’s band but on repeated listens, that is far from the truth. While Yorke is an invaluable singer, he is only one-fifth of the pleasure.

And in truth, I could explain Radiohead’s sound and their new album for hours and hours more (that is the kind of discourse they inspire) but the only thing that would make you truly understand is by listening to the album yourself. Because it is an experience. It’s one of those, well-you-had-to-be-there’s.

Chances are you’ve already read a great deal of press on them being that they’ve graced just about every publication in recent weeks. And unlike a lot of times where magazines and papers are desperately looking for something—anything—to talk about, Radiohead deserves the insane coverage. Because they are the most exhilarating thing happening in music today. Honest. No exaggeration. 

Moreover, while a “music critic” like me has heard more music than any person should be subjected to, and while I have seen so many live shows that have left me with a that-was-ok feeling, Radiohead still makes me weak at the knees. Like I was a high school girl encountering her first crush. And when that is still possible, after I’ve become so jaded and have evolved into a self-declared know-it-all, it’s a refreshing glass of naively-made curbside lemonade. It is something that will excite me, entrance me, inspire me, make me feel like the world has yet revealed so many wonders and gifts to me. Listening to them is transformative. Yes, it’s that dramatic. It’s that real and lovely.

It’s even, dare I say it, somewhat religious

But if you're still not satisfied…if you still insist that you still want more Eminem (oh, like you read the last piece I wrote), I have no choice but to fight you and, in the spirit of Bang It Out, give you a Top 8* reasons list why I will not speak another word about the reverse Oreo from Detroit.
Here we go...

THE TOP EIGHT* REASONS WHY I WILL NOT WRITE ABOUT EMINEM ANYMORE

1. While entertaining some guests from the Down Under (not Florida), we happened upon a local bar's, 420, brand spanking new Karaoke night. How sad, I know. How the mighty, or the desperate, have fallen. While perusing through their almost exclusively-cheesy-song list, a young man in a suit, tie, and yarmulka, obviously coming straight from work, got up to perform "Fight For the Right To Party" by the Beastie Boys. It was embarrassing but completely understood. After all, the Boys, who purportedly went to MTA (by the way, this has been confirmed untrue), are all Jewish and are role models for nerdy Heebs everywhere. The lesson being that even WE can be cool. Not just cool, but innovators and trend setters. So what if we have to become Tibetan monks in the process? These are the sacrifices, people. But what happened next was really funny/sad/disturbing/painful/cool/not cool: our yarmulka'd friend got up for his second song (after my rousing version of "Baby, One More Time," which got me a record deal on the spot) and performed "The Real Slim Shady." His version was actually pretty close to the original, being that his nasily voice--for once-wasn't overtly annoying and sounded much like the titular rapper. This working bochur rapped the whole song through his noggin, without even looking at the monitor once and also, made sure to include every curse word (Yarmulka and Karoake Cursing: Desecration of God's Name? Discuss). This, my friends, is the image I will have for the rest of my life when I hear this song. This is enough to help me put away my Eminem records for a little bit. Wherever you are, my Shady Walking Frumster Profile ("I'm modern orthodox but still listen to Eminem. He's so cool that I can't help it. LOL."), number nine on this list is dedicated to you.

2. Slippers666@hotmail.com, who's love for Satan is only bested by her adoration for household shoes, wrote to me (I've kept the type-o's and mistakes for historical purposes):

  Hey Arye...

Just looked at bangitout again for the first time in like...half a year. its really great. i luv your stuff! k, so enough of being nice, here comes the real slim shady....

Well, im not proud of the fact that i listen to eminem...but what can i say? he's gotten me through my math exams. i like the beats, yes i even like the lyrics. No, really, i do listen to 'goyishe' music, and yes, i do feel remotely guilty, OK!!!!! very guilty.But reading your article makes it all better(<-thats best said with a sarcastic tone). From it ive learned that his anti women, gays, his constant swearing, yadda yadda is ok. its not him, its slim shady.(<-sarcastic tone works well here too) WHO ARE YOU KIDDING SWEETHEART? eminem is a real...perv, to put it shortly.(<-not sarcastic->) so please, before you defend eminem's twisted songs, think again. listen to the music, its got a nice beat, yes, if u dont listen closely, the lyrics are fine, but do not, DO NOT, try to defend him or let alone understand him. nice try arye, but please spare me! part 2 can go, unless u attempt to delve into the brain Missy Elliot (put your hat down flip and reverse it, cuz for this girl ure gonna need...well, a creative mind, at least) (this e-mail, by the way, its nothing personal, im just a bit emotional, ive got a chemistry exam tommorow and have lost my eminem CD)
have a great day, a great week, and a great shabbat, where of which u will talk of only holy things and NOT about eminem

You heard it, folks. She said Part 2 can't go. Well, my warm-footed friend of Beelzebub, you win.

3. Oh, man, I haven't been this confused about liking/hating someone since 10th grade (you know who you are, heartbreaker!). On the one hand, I really have plenty of reason to dislike Mathers as I mentioned in the last article. He is indeed misogynistic, sexist, angry and violent (even Slippers666 knows it!). On the other hand, all his lyrics are directed at basically only two women-his mom and estranged wife-who I'm told really deserve it. And I'm told he's so incredibly likable. It's a tough topic. Every time I think about this, I get so confused. I get flustered. It brings me back to that year. Ahh,10th grade…all I wanted was love. Does she like me back or what? I mean, she is sending me all the signals…did she just look at me? Oh, man! She is so into me! I know it….ok, ok…be cool. I'll be right back, I'm going to go over and talk to her. Stay here.

4. For the first time ever, Entertainment Weekly made the decision of spelling out a curse word for use in the Eminem article. They had never done this before in their publication and as far as I'm concerned, it was the beginning of their downfall. This magazine has always been a family-oriented pop-culture filled weekly rag that I, among millions of others, have come to rely upon for our quick fix of Ben and J. Lo. Well, now all that has changed. Before you know it, the magazine will be named Entertainment ****in' Weekly. And it's all Em's fault. Why couldn't he have just said "shoot." The editors have justified this decision by saying that they wanted to portray the real artist and by bleeping him out, they would take away from his eloquence or lack thereof. I say if there are people in this world who can't tell the difference between "****" (as in "that man is the ****") and the real word, our problems are not with preserving Eminem's golden vocabulary, but rather our country's obsession with a word that is basically the stronger version of "doody."

5. OK, so I'm a Jewish boy from Jersey. What do I know about:
· Rap
· Poor white trash from Michigan
· Beats (borscht? Yes, I know borscht)
· Being a white guy in a predominately black business
· Trigonometry
· Rap i.e. hip hop
Should I be the one talking about Eminem? And if you said the answer is "of course, because you think the world revolves around your opinion," you would be right.

6. The new song "Lose Yourself," off the 8 Mile Soundtrack is inspirational and brilliant. In fact, I will go so far as calling it the song of the year. But you've seen the video on MTV almost as often as this week's episode of the Real World. You've also heard the song on the radio so often that when Eminem screams "you gotta' lose yourself…" you almost want to shout back, "no, you first!" I never thought I would say this, but bring back the Backstreet Boys, just so I can hear the same two songs instead of just the same one.

7. Doesn't this one have to be about a shul in Teaneck or about some Pizza shop in Efrat? Or is it a pick up line during Chanukah? I know I'll get this Top Ten List format down eventually.

8. Eminem is a master marketer. He loves it when people talk about him (like I refuse to do now). He adores the magazine covers with his picture on it. He wants you to own the 8 Mile Soundtrack, which you bought. He even made a second volume called "More 8 Mile Soundtrack." You bought that, too. You didn't like it because it sucked. You tried returning it but that pimply annoying sales guy told you that the wrapper is off and you can't return it. You're screwed out of 18 dollars. Eminem is laughing all the way to his Chase ATM-can you hear him? You see, the whole Marshalls/Eminem/Slim Shady shtick is the rap world equivalent of a great advertising campaign. It's like "just do it" for Nike. Except this billboard is a human being. Flesh and blood. Hence, the song, "The Real Slim Shady." You can ask for the real Slim Shady to please stand up but he never will. You will get "the creation" to stand up. And Em knows that. This is the genius behind that song. It's almost as if he's taunting us. You want the real Eminem. Ha, you'll never get him. Well, since he loves the attention, which we've all given to him, he's become richer than we can all imagine. And the more money we spend on Vanilla Ice Latte, the more mysterious he makes himself. So, we're not going to get anywhere. No matter how hard we try. So you still want me to write about the real Eminem?

Ha, you'll never get me to.

Michael sang, "there are things that you hide and things that you don't." And on that note, I hid my face. I turned bright red. A red so vibrant that it should only be reserved for Santa Claus costumes. I wanted to be anywhere other than in that car. Unfortunately, I was sitting in between the Rosenberg daughters so I couldn't open the door and jump out. I desperately wanted to do one of those Fall Guy stunts I had just seen Lee Majors perform the other night. Man, I had to act quickly before he said the s-e-x word. "Mrs. Rosenberg," I piped up. I could not believe my own nerve. "Could you turn the station from this song? I find it inappropriate. Please, Mrs. Rosenberg. Only you can make this awkward atmosphere in the car turn from the thickness of cottage cheese to something more digestible.

"No," Mrs. Rosenberg said, "I like this song."

.............................................................................................

While that George Michael incident was many years ago, I still find that I am unable to listen to that song. It just makes me feel really weird. Uncomfortable like being in a really tight shirt. And while admitting this publicly may label me as a "prude," I am fine with that. Only because a year ago George Michael proved to me that sometimes saying those very words could get you into a lot of trouble. Especially when you say it to an undercover cop in a public bathroom.

But despite my ever- increasing passion for music, I still try to draw the line at what is inappropriate. I cannot tolerate the degradation of women in nu-metal and hip-hop. I cannot condone any sort of violence in music, regardless of how "metaphorical" it is. Artists are naïve in thinking that their music does not have an impact on the millions of doe-eyed impressionable youth. They hold on to every note, every beat, every word like it is the bible. Moses has nothing on Nelly. Abraham cannot sell as many albums as Jay-Z. It is sad but true. Not that I think every child on a subway should be bopping his head while reading Genesis (and G-d forbid should they be listening to Genesis. Or even Phil Collins solo albums). I merely insist that artists should be held responsible; from N.W.A. popularizing gangsta rap to Public Enemy popularizing anti-Semitism (did Jew eat?). Rationalizing that they are artists carrying on in Lenny Bruce's righteous example has almost become a cliché. If we say it enough, they spew, then and only then will we be able to move on. We must take the weapons of hate and belittle them. But, hey, I say, does calling that girl over there "a ho" really make the world a better place? Maybe it does. Although, I truly don't think so.

To quote Peter Parker's Uncle Ben, "with great power comes great responsibility." Sadly, most artists forget the latter half of Ben's sage suggestion and go straight to focusing on the power. Fight the power, Chuck D lashed out. Well, the new 2002 version would advise up-and-coming artists to embrace the power. Embrace it and make it your ho.

..........................................................................................

Now herein lies the problem. After this little preachy tirade, I need to come clean. Yes, I too need to clean out my closet.

At the risk of appearing hypocritical, I proclaim that Eminem is an absolute genius (can you see me hiding under my desk fearing the backlash?)

How could he say that, asks the reader (you) to the writer (me)? How could he (me again) have said that Eminem is a genius especially after he (me? ok, you get it) complained about the misogynistic and violent tendencies of music with Marshall Mathers III (Em?s real name for the pop culture-impaired) fore-fronting as one of the most controversial rappers recording today.

Before I get to your questions, which you may have or may not have asked, let's go through Eminem's wrong doings first:

-Violently accosting the homosexual lifestyle

-Threatening to kill his mother and his estranged girlfriend, Kim

-Angrily spouting hateful messages to most pop musicians on the radio (which some may see as a good thing. Pssst, Christina, can you hear me? PUT ON SOME CLOTHES!)

-Regularly intimidating Moby, a wimpy vegan musician who wears glasses

-Sampling Aerosmith ("Dream On," no less)

-Shouting rude and profane-full messages to Tipper Gore and Lynne Cheney

-Says a lot of dirty, naughty "bathroom" words

Indeed, this young man from Detroit has made a lot of enemies and always speaks his mind freely. Obviously he?s never sat at my dinner table, where we?re told that if you have nothing nice to say, then hold your breath and count to ten. Organizations and political figures have outspokenly opposed Eminem?s lyrics and his hateful message. Even at the Grammys, GLAAD (Gay Lesbian Something Something Something) stood outside protesting the event with their signs and slogans because that evening, Mathers was nominated for multiple awards. The Grammy committee even went so far as to ask Em to perform that evening, which he graciously complied with a stirring version of "Stan" [how confused was everyone when he performed his hit song with Elton John, instead of Dido, the original performer. Elton John, an advocate of gay rights and an open homosexual himself! Surprise, surprise. John was even quoted later on as saying that he was proud of that performance, citing Eminem as a genius].

Much like the great influential musicians of the past, Eminem too is an eye in the hurricane of controversy (see Elvis). Principals, parents, rabbis, priests all shake their heads disapprovingly at Matther's antics. How can we condone his message, they question. How can we allow our children to buy these curse-ful albums? How do we let Eminem get away with poisoning the minds of the masses?

To which, Em answers and says, it's not me, people. It's Slim Shady. So get off my back.

...............................................................................................

I?ve always wondered how rappers make such a smooth transition into acting while rock stars fail at it miserably. For every Mos Def, there's a Madonna. For each Ice Cube, there's an unfortunate Bon Jovi. With the rare exception of a Sting performance (Dune, Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) or a Dwight Yoakam role (Sling Blade, Panic Room), rock stars, overall, are pathetic actors. Why is that, I?ve asked myself. How could it be that the so-called representatives of the Ghetto are so much more thespian-ish than our private schooled prep/rock boys are?

And only until recently did I come up with an answer. You see, rock stars don?t act well because they?re not used to acting. There?s no need to act or pose because rock n? roll never really required a mystique (which is why the press resents Belle &Sebastian ? because they shun journalists and remain withdrawn). No secret identities. No alter egos. Thurston Moore, boringly enough, is just Thurston Moore a guy who writes arty rock tunes. Jeff Tweedy is to no surprise a guy from the Chicago named Jeff Tweedy who has a wife and two kids. When a man picks up a guitar and plugs it into an amp, he is basically saying, what you see is what you get (obviously, there are exceptions but?). I am just a rock star. I write songs about broken hearts, dead end jobs, and again, broken hearts. All things that the public can relate to. In fact, these rock stars are so regular--like you and me?that we wonder why a major label paid so much for that shlepper in the first place.

And all these things that rock n  roll lacks the glamour, the controversy, the nastiness--rap definitely provides. While it can be cliché and expected at times, the rap world supplies us with the abundance of drama that rock lacks. There are East/West feuds. There are the alter egos like Ghostface Killa, Ice-T, P. Diddy, Rakim, and many others (do we even know their real names?). There are the cars, the women, the gold and the unlimited supply of fancy alcoholic beverages (pass the Courvesier). All these absurdities, none of which the public can relate to. All these things are beyond our grasp, financially and realistically. The images that these rap stars create along with their labels are just that: creations and images. We are being entertained and they are acting. Busta can't be Busta all the time. And Ludacris certainly cannot be that retarded?it has to be an act. It just has to be or we are in some serious trouble.

And now onto Slim Shady, the creation of both Marshall Matthers and Eminem, who is perhaps one of the most imaginative and complex characters of pop culture today. While Marshall Mathers III has been around since October 17^th, 1972, the man you see on MTV is only a few years old. Slim Shady, the alter-ego of Eminem is the discipline-less youngest child to Mathers' responsible father-like figure (his undying devotion and love for his child, Haile, is almost beautiful and inspirational). Slim Shady can say what he wants, do what he wants, and, if you will, front whoever he wants ( I love using the word "front" Makes me feel so street. Word). And at the end of the day, there are no apologies. Every time you hear Eminem say something controversial, he insists it's not him saying it but rather Slim is. For real, dawg. In fact, on the new album, The Eminem Show, he raps on the first single, Without Me, "I've created a monster 'cuz nobody wants to/see Marshall no more/they want Shady" I'm chopped liver. Ya' see, what Marshall is saying is that in case you missed the joke, in case, you have no imagination and take things too literal, this is not for real. I am entertaining you. This violent, sexist, angry character is a creation just like Robert DeNiro created Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver. Like Christian Bale created Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. Marshall even goes as far as spelling it out on the new album. At the end of revealing the hypocrisies and the problems with our wonderful country ("White America"), he laughs and then says--without any beats, without any samples "I'm just playing America, you know I love you."  Now, within a second of each other, Shady raps in his nasal-y angry voice and then reveals himself as Marshall, displaying his true colors. Relax, he says to you, the concerned listener. It's all an act.

What do you say?......Answer me.

If Billy Joel had not taken writing credits for those lyrics, I would have sworn my mother wrote them. Most see the aforementioned lyrical sample as a sincere love declaration from a man to his woman, to take the good or the bad, whatever she had to offer. I, on the other hand, see it as a mother giving a guilt trip to her son. Is it such a preposterous analysis, a completely off-target interpretation? “I just want someone I can talk to you…” But Mom, you might say back, I’m in middle of watching something on TV. OK, she says back, “I love you just the way you are” and then she hangs up.

After much thought, I conclude that it’s no weird coincidence that the Jewish people, en masse, relate so much to Billy Joel. His songs encapsulate just about every character trait of our stereotypical portrayals. From the paranoia that everyone is Anti-Semitic and out to get us (“…everyone is so untrue…all I want is someone to believe”) to the self-consciousness of being accepted and assimilating successfully (“whattsa’ matter with the clothes I’m wearing? …whattsa’ matter with the car I’m driving?”). If there was anyone who could understand what it was like to be an adolescent Yeshiva student (“Pressure”), it was Mister William Martin Joel. As I used to sit in the backseat of my father’s car on the way to school, I sang “should I try to be a straight “A” student? If you are, then you think too much” with such full intensity, actualizing this song as a primal scream, a rebel call for the burdens of excelling in Yeshiva. No, I would not think too much and yes, that means that I might not get an “A.” Deal with it.

Singing along with Joel empowered me in a way that Bon Jovi or Bruce Springsteen could never accomplish. They were too goyish. Bon Jovi sang about people like “Tina” and “Johnny,” who I did not know or relate to (“Tina” is such a shiksa name - and working on a dock? Are you kidding? Who do I know that works on a dock?).

Bruce Springsteen was indeed the all-American minstrel and everyone loved him for that. Myself included. But as hard as I tried, I also found it too difficult to identify with this other Jersey rocker. After being born with asthma, I awoke to the harsh reality that I was not “born to run.” I would have to stay home and practice piano for my weekly lessons.

…………………….

Like the Wu Tang Clan, Joel has always kept it real, never alienating his fans with an cutting-edge experimental album along the lines of Britney by Britney Spears (by the way, that was a joke). Throughout my life’s experiences, I have found Billy Joel’s music always appropriate regardless of the scenario. Yes, there was a time where I thought I was “too cool” to listen to the Stranger or rock out – yes, rock out - to Glass Houses (see above). But I realize the error of my ways. In high school, when frustrated with family members, I reveled in my angst along with “My Life,” not with my thrash heavy Iron Maiden tapes. “I don’t care what you say anymore, this is my life” – how many of you have felt the need to say that to your parents? It’s no wonder Braid covered this song because it truly is a punk song in its sentiments.

How uncanny does the lyrical content of “Only the Good Die Young” capture the complacency in Jewish education: “well, they showed you a statue and told you to pray, built you a temple and locked you away…they didn’t give you quite enough information.” Right on! Now this guy really understands you.

Even on occasion, Billy will resolve global issues, standing up and defending the Jews against the finger pointing of Anti-Semitism. As Jonathan Rosen astutely pointed out in a recent New York Times Magazine article, the subtle persecution is coming around again. Once again, we are being accused for the world’s woes and nobody is standing up publicly. Well, “we didn’t start the fire. It was always burning as the world was turning.” And in response to all the other untruths, Joel, once again steps up to the podium, and responds on the behalf of our nation: “I am an innocent man. Oh, yes I am.”

But don’t take my word for it. It’s just my opinion and my opinion is good for nothing. When I approached observant Jewish identical twin brothers, Isaac and Seth, separately, about our love for the Joel, they both gave me identical answers. “It’s very simple. He is an underdog like the Jews,” said Isaac/Seth. “He is short and not very good looking but he still gets the hot, tall girls every Jewish guy is dreaming of.” And one of those hot, tall girls was model, Christie Brinkley who Joel had almost a ten year marriage to. In fact, many of the songs on An Innocent Man were dedicated to her, including the song “Christie Lee” which I remember bringing me great disappointment. In the past, he had sung about “Laura” and “Brenda,” two nice girls that I probably went to high school with. Now he had written a paean to a woman, who could never be confused for being Jewish, even if she wore a yarmulke. Had the epitome of shleppers let me down and confirmed that the Semitic persuasion needed to look outside of our tribe for Ms. Right? Before all hope was lost, Joel had redeemed himself and did what a typical Jewish parent from Long Island would have done: he gave his daughter a WASPy name - Alexis.

“The reason I love Billy Joel so much,” explained Sarah, a closet Billy Joel listener, “is that he isn’t pretentious. I never heard him complain about Napster when everyone else was. This was a way to get free music and he was into that. Free music. How can a Jewish person not relate to that?” Billy Joel was the anti-Lars Ulrich. He’s a pushitah yid, a simple Jew, with messages we can all understand. With tremendous flair, Joel could play both sides of the coin, identifying with the rebellious child while simultaneously, play the role of the sage parent. He, like the patriarchs and matriarchs, dispensed his knowledge but wasted no time on explanations. “Don’t wait for answers, don’t talk to strangers. Don’t ask me why.” With Joel, it was nothing more that “a matter of trust” and if I know a Jewish parent (which I do), they pine for the trust of their children. How many times have you heard your parents say, trust me here because “I’ve lived long enough to have learned…”

“His songs emit a nostalgic feeling…this homey type feeling that most artists strive for but rarely accomplish,” said Rabbi Dworken, Executive Vice President of the Rabbinical Council of America and also, my dad, “It’s a personal relationship he develops with the listener. Much like a rabbi who makes his speech in synagogue. He hopes the congregation can relate to it. And they do because a Billy Joel concert, I assume, is a lot like shul.”

If you’ve been listening to the soft music stations (and my parents have) or visiting the dentist regularly, you’ll hear “New York State of Mind” quite often. The song conjures up those nostalgic feeling Rabbi Dworken referred to. A time when New York City was a haven from your troubles, a sanctuary for the troubled soul. Some might even say it’s Billy Joel’s finest vocal performance, ranking somewhere along the lines of reciting a Psalm. An affection for that song (and others) in times like these lies along the same reasoning most seek solace in a Cantorial performance. It’s all about soul.

Not to say that Billy Joel is Jew-sclusive. He does appeal to the other nations, hence the incredible record sales. But through many discussions with those outside the Jewish faith, I realized that the relationship existed on a different level. The affection, if there is any, is purely romantic and nostalgic. “Man, when I was a kid, Billy Joel was on the radio all the time. I think “Goodnight Saigon” was playing when I got my first kiss,” Mike, a Christian, told me, “but would I buy an album now? Probably not.” When I asked Mike what he listened to now, he told me Creed, Live and Fatboy Slim. Any opinion he had was now devaluated. “I love, love, love him. No matter what he puts out,” enthused Maura, an Irish Catholic, “His songs are just so nice to listen to.” When I asked her about the lyrical content, she said she paid very little attention to lyrics. “If I thought lyrics were important, would I have an ‘NSYNC CD on my desk?”

Although in contrast, for some non-Jews, Joel’s lyrics are the only appeal to the piano man’s catalogue. “I know who he is. But I’m not a huge Billy Joel fan,” said Chad, a blonde blue-eyed southern boy that likes white bread, “I’m just not into it. I mean, I have to admit that I do like him lyrically more than musically. He’s a great storyteller, so yeah, I would read his lyrics but not listen to those piano songs.”

…………………….

Through a multitude of phone calls, I found Billy Joel’s representative at Sony, Claire Mercuri. I did not ask for a great deal. I did not need Mr. Joel for an in-person interview or even a conference call. I merely wanted her to forward to him a list of questions via email that would give me the insight I needed for this piece. Her assistant, Amanda, who was as helpful as a flashlight in mid-day, kept on forgetting who I was (and here I thought I was unforgettable). But then after much persistence (translation: stalking) I was given Claire’s email address to which I would email a list of questions and she would then forward them to Joel. There are the questions I sent:

1. After living on the Upper West Side in a very prominent Jewish community, I’ve found that just about every apartment that I’ve visited has had a Billy Joel CD. How do you explain the connection the Jewish people have to your music and your lyrics?

2. Is there one song or one lyric that you feel epitomizes the Jewish experience? Also, do the good only die young in the Catholic religion or was that applicable to all religions?

3. What is your current level of affiliation? In your day-to-day life, do you identify with the religion? Would you like to come for a Friday night dinner at my place? – please call by Wednesday, as preparations are required.

4. My dad is an Orthodox Rabbi and loves your music (besides your songs, he will only listen to Billy Ocean’s “Get Out Of My Dreams”). In fact, you are the only rock performer we can agree on listening to. He still gets teary when he hears “Goodnight, Saigon.” How do you explain this cross-generation bond? How do you explain my dad’s love for Billy Ocean?

5. While researching this article, I was overwhelmed with the participants - my Jewish friends - who were willing to go on the record as having a story or two about them and your music. Where you aware that every Jew at one point or another was a Billy Joel fan? Do you think that loving you is a commandment hidden somewhere in the Torah?

6. To be honest, your music has introduced millions (including myself) into a life-long love affair with music – it was The Stranger that seduced me into rock ‘n’ roll. I cannot imagine where I would be without your albums. And on that note, what’s with the beard? Do you find it irritating? Is there a latent Rabbinic phase we should know about?

7. What was your Bar Mitzvah parsha?

After my list of questions, I expressed gratitude to him profusely for being an inspiration and a role model to me and countless others. But thanks to the uncooperative nature of the Sony staff, Mr. Joel will never see those questions until he read this article (hi, Billy). I truly felt rejected as a fellow member of the tribe. After buying all his tapes and then replacing those tapes with CD’s, I felt I knew Billy well. And knowing him well, I was certain that he would have wanted to participate in this article. And have Friday night dinner with me.

I spoke to Amanda one last time and she assured me she “would leave another message.” And I said back, “but I’ve already called five times.” And she said back, “well, add one more to that number.” Oh, Amanda, if I had sung for you the first few lines of the titular Boston hit would you have been more cooperative? But still the phone does not ring. So, I’m sorry to you, the reader, that you couldn’t hear what Mr. Joel had to say. And I’m sorry to you, Mr. Joel that you were not given the chance to be heard. But it’s not my fault. I tried. Blame it on Claire when you see her….she must be an anti-Semite.

(This article was originally to appear in HEEB MAGAZINE but it isn’t.)

While I am not Jordan Hiller—I can only strive to be—I know that the movie industry has been dishing out one brainless flop after the other (of course, “Blue Crush” looks like a masterpiece of Shakespearean nature). Television shows were, for the most part, repeats, which is the case during the summer, and those that weren’t repeats were reality shows that reminded me I wanted nothing to do with reality.

So we turn to music for our solace and pleasure. The quick three-minute pop song, the summer hit that makes everything feel alright. The guitar, bass and drums combination that helps us forget that we are unwillingly losing 12 pounds a minute.  In the past we’ve had bursts of “Mmmbop” greeting us with open arms. There was nothing like three prepubescent boys singing to us the wonders of love. Then there was Len’s “Steal My Sunshine” which almost did just that. It was a four minutes of shade in a summer that makes this one look like winter.  And lest we forget “Who Let the Dogs Out” was a summer time hit, everyone in every sports venue painfully reminds us.

So, what about this summer?

If I was the doctor of music, then I would give you this prognosis: It’s not looking good, ma’am. I’m afraid we’re losing her. The summer hit, that is.

Keeping an open mind and open ears, I conclude that nothing has struck a chord—pun intended—with the audience as a whole. Yes, Jimmy Eat World can write a cute little pop tune but nobody likes the band name. Indeed, it does suck when your initials spell out J.E.W.

Well, as a critic, it is my job to criticize things, which the people around me could tell you I do quite often. I have never found it easier to do that than this summer. I am foaming with my teeth gnashing. I am ready to bite the rump of the summer song. I am prepared to break it down for you.

I have graciously selected a list of summer hit potentials and I will tell you why they fail despite the fact that they came close. Because I am a good man. I am noble and I am modest. Love me.

Michelle Branch’s “Everywhere” and Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles”

Michelle Branch is Vanessa Carlton. There. I said it. No one knows it because MTV keeps it a tight secret but these two average looking brunettes who write songs that sound exactly alike are really the same person.

Don’t get me wrong – I like annoying high school girls just as much as the next guy but, girls, we see right through you. Despite the fact that you’re fully dressed, you’re still a “pop star,” not the next Alanis Morrisette (a compliment or an insult? Discuss). So, lose the schitzo act. We’re not buying it. Merge together and become “Vaneselle Branton.”

Summer Hit Bottom Line: Vanessa/Michelle is a slightly cooler version of Debbie Gibson. How sad for her/them.

Nelly “Hot In Here”
It’s getting hot in here so take off….aww, forget it. This is just getting dumb.

Summer Hit Bottom Line: Whoa, Nelly, I think MC Hammer is calling you.

Eminem “Without Me”
An almost near perfect song…if it had come out in 1999. Marshall Mathers ne’ Eminem picks on Moby, Chris Kirkpatrick, and Dick Cheney in a ditty that ends with a wonderful Hasidic tune (imagine a table of Rabbis belting out that one). But the question is asked: how irrelevant can a song be? Here is a man who supposedly has his finger on the pulse of America and he picks on people who are already appearing in Where Are They Now? episodes. Hey, Slim, why don’t you start a fight with Hall & Oats while you’re at it? I hear they’re vegetarians.

Side note: And what about that pronouncing yourself “the king of controversy?!?” Can one truly be objective about him or herself? Better yet, am I the greatest writer of all time?

Summer Hit Bottom Line: Everyone else has used the melt-in-your-mouth joke so I have nothing really witty to say.

Sheryl Crow “Soak In The Sun”
This is what we call the unintentional ode to the mid-life crisis.  Be honest with me; you know this song goes nowhere and it’s a desperate attempt to stay hip with the kids. First off, there is no chorus really. Secondly, there’s no chorus really. And those programmed drum beats…..uch. I can’t explain why people even liked this song in the first place. It could be that we feel bad about that ridiculous cover of Maxim her label pressured her into doing.

Speaking of inappropriate; have you seen this video? She prances around like a floozy on Spring Break. Now, go put some clothes on, Sheryl, and start acting like someone my mother’s age.

Summer Hit Bottom Line: Crows—I like to shoo them away (if I couldn’t pun off Eminem’s name, then I’ll do a pun here, damn it).

The Hives “Hate To Say I Told You So”
A great song but I liked it even more when I heard it the first time as “Song 2” by Blur (Isn’t it fun to make references that most people don’t get? No, it isn’t).

Summer Hit Bottom Line: They’re from Sweden. They probably live near Abba and that’s good enough to automatically disqualify them.

Pink “Don’t Let Me Be Me”

Everyone refers to Pink as the “anti-Britney.” Well, if that’s the case, then you can call me the “anti-Pink.” No, seriously, call me the “anit-Pink.” See if I answer you.
But the song’s title-- “Don’t Let Me Be Me….” just what the heck does that mean? Is it like, don’t let that guy be him, either. Or what about her? Don’t let her be she because that would be bad. I’ve seen her be her and it gets a bit weird.

Seriously, when are we going to start supplying singers with Strunk’s and White’s Elements of Style?

Summer Hit Bottom Line: You’re not a 14-year old girl so chances are you’ve never heard this song anyway.

Avril Lavigne “Complicated”

Talk about your unsuccessful attempts at hiding your religion. Couldn’t she have been a bit more radical when coming up with an alternative to Avigail Levine?  This girl would’ve totally made a lousy Morano. She would’ve been hiding her shabbos candles in the basement but worn her Maagen David necklace to church. Like, duh. Here’s a suggestion: how about something like “Christie Jesus.” Nobody would have found her out with that one.

Summer Hit Bottom Line: This one comes the closest to being a summer hit because it was sunshiney, poppy, fun and slightly rebellious. But here is the problem—publicly admit you love a 14 year old girl and her “perky” music and you are so not getting any more babysitting gigs. And in this economy, that would truly suck. Either that or you’re my roommate.

So in conclusion, sadly, there has been no summer hit. It’s as obvious as Jimmy Fallon is not funny. We need to admit these things and move on or we will have to tolerate this for a long time…I’m referring to bad music, not bad Jimmy Fallon, of course. We should just ignore him.

If you think otherwise, you are welcome to email me your suggestions and I will dismiss them as quickly as possible.