Before she went 100 percent batshit and was supposedly offered Paula Abdul’s slot on American Idol, apparently she had some good ideas. Back in 2000, she published a piece called ‘Courtney Love does the math’ on Salon about how the current record-industry environment kills the bands - financially - while making a hefty profit for the labels. And even if you don’t like her, she probably knows what she’s talking about.

From the article:

They spend half a million to record their album. That leaves the band with $500,000. They pay $100,000 to their manager for 20 percent commission. They pay $25,000 each to their lawyer and business manager.

That leaves $350,000 for the four band members to split. After $170,000 in taxes, there’s $180,000 left. That comes out to $45,000 per person.

That’s $45,000 to live on for a year until the record gets released.

Read the entire article here.

I’ve spent the lion’s share of my music-listening time for the last three days with Rodrigo y Gabriela.

You know, Rodrigo and Gabriela. The guy and the girl who were in a speed-metal band in Mexico who didn’t find their scene, so they moved to Ireland and played as a classical-guitar duo, informed by flamenco as much as Slayer? Right. Rodrigo and Gabriela. They’re hurting my brain.

While the video is pretty bad - it was apparently put together by someone who had just discovered Final Cut Pro and multiple camera angles - you’ll see what I mean when I say that ‘they’re hurting my brain’ here:

And I’ll get back to work on that best-of list for 2006 … I’m going to have to rethink my top songs because of these two.

Your run-of-the-mill electronic show consists of endless permutations of the following:

• endless knob-twiddling
• head bobbing
• the same repeated loop in three different tempos
• vaguely emo haircuts
• and white people.

A Jamie Lidell electronic show, however, subverts the expected. Wait, are you creating your own beats - live - by singing into a mic and then looping it? Are you seriously expecting me to listen to your electronic recreation of a live studio band? And what are you thinking, crooning soulfully like some 21st century Otis Redding over your track?

This white boy done good, so at least he had the last item on that list covered. If you have a chance to see this guy, I highly recommend it.

Mid-December means only one thing: best-of lists. It’s the beatnikindustries ten best albums of 2005 … and only four of them were released this year.

1. Spoon, Gimme Fiction. [2005]
With the advent of the iPod Era, the time of listening to an album all the way through, understanding the connections between individual tracks and the connection to the larger whole is wooly-mammoth dead.

That notwithstanding, I’ve resurrected that wooly mammoth. Spoon’s third effort, Gimme Fiction, took a while to understand, but after standout tracks like ‘Sister Jack’ and ‘The Dragon and the Beast, Adored,’ I’ve gained a new appreciation for the entire album.

Britt Daniel has this penchant for taking a track and tweaking it slightly – not too far from the original melody, but noticeably enough that you notice the difference. Say you’re rocking out to ‘Sister Jack,’ a straight-ahead piano-and-guitar rocker with a horribly catchy refrain, but as the song shifts into its outro, your head bobbing is interrupted. Oh, wait! He added a beat! Suddenly the standard 4/4 time signature of any pop song becomes an alternating 4/4, 5/4 signature! What? How are you going to bounce to this?

In any case, each track does something strange like that to you. Gimme Fiction. Spoon. It’s an earworm.

Standout tracks: ‘The Dragon and the Beast, Adored,’ ‘I Turn My Camera On,’ ‘My Mathematical Mind,’ ‘Sister Jack.’

2. Superdrag, Regretfully Yours. [1996]
When my MTV-watching was in its heyday, I fell in love with Superdrag’s single ‘Sucked Out.’ The video was set in some North By Northwest-style 1960s bungalow with exposed brick and space-age clocks, and the video’s ambience was almost as catchy as the song’s chorus. But while ‘Sucked Out’ stayed in heavy rotation in mix albums throughout the years, I never bothered to listen to the rest of the album.

This was a mistake. The album rocks.

Most of the songs are completely unlike that first single, instead trading crunchy guitars for melodic lines – but it’s still at heart a pop record, hooky riffs and all. It stands the test of time much better than other similar artists in the same era, when all production was reduced to a cheap knockoff of Nirvana’s Nevermind.

Standout tracks: ‘Cynicality,’ ‘What If You Don’t Fly.’ And ‘Sucked Out,’ too, I suppose.

3. Fiona Apple, Extraordinary Machine. [2005]
Say what you will about released-yet-not-released, then-rerecorded-and-released, controversy, but this is just good music.

Strangely enough, I’m not one who typically listens to the lyrics of songs – I’ve created malapropisms out of Sublime’s ‘Caress Me Down,’ changing ‘G.l. Joe kung-fu grip’ into ‘G.I. Joe kung-fu kick’ – but for some reason the lyrics are the only thing that grab me on this album. Such a distinction opens the discussion to include just Apple’s phrasing and musical talent, rather than getting into a pissing contest between the freewheeling carnival-esque Jon Brion and the more sparse, breathable Mike Elizondo versions. Either way you spin the record, you have something worth listening to for those moments of relationships just ending – or those just beginning. Or anything in between. Shit, this is just good.

As I’ve said before, ‘I make the most of it / I’m an extraordinary machine,’ Fiona says, and I agree.

Standout tracks: ‘Extraordinary Machine,’ ‘Better Version of Me,’ ‘Not About Love.’

4. Jamie Lidell, Multiply. [2005]
You’re listening to new music late at night, and you’re only half paying attention. You find a track by a drum ‘n’ bass artist on the same label as electro-noize whiz kid Aphex Twin – sure, great, give it a shot … and some Otis Redding vocals hit you from left field.

‘What the hell is going on?’ you think, as this white boy pours his heart and (surprisingly funky) soul into some track left over from a 1960s Motown session, all backed by a crack rhythm and blues band. This is Music. Even as his voice goes ragged screaming ‘take it back / ‘cause I got no control,’ he’s still channeling his inner Stax records vault. Even James Brown would call this boy funky, and that’s saying quite a bit.

The rest of the album isn’t as stellar, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless.

Standout tracks: ‘Multiply,’ ‘When I Come Back Around.’

5. M.I.A., Arular. [2005]
I loved this album for its leaked single ‘Galang,’ a song that got to me with its unfettered energy and nonsensical rhymes about razor blades and purple haze. I stuck around for pseudo-political messages about terrorism (I think) and more of that manic drive. Her sound is definitely Sri Lanka-via-London, there’s no doubt about that, and there’s also no doubt I have no idea what she’s saying. We want bucky done gun? We won? What?

But one look at the imagery in the ‘Galang’ video, with bombs going off and graffiti-ed names floating around the screen, it’s obvious that M.I.A. both loves and flaunts, to some extent, her status as the underground blog-championed music avatar of the month.

Then I saw ‘Galang’ used in a Honda Civic commercial. Damn the man. So much for anti-establishment tendencies.

Standout tracks: ‘Pull Up The People,’ ‘Bucky Done Gun, ‘Galang.’

6. Dressy Bessy, Dressy Bessy. [2003]
The inspiration for Dressy Bessy, one of the most amazing bands I discovered this year, comes from the same place as Jamie Lidell’s mind-blowing ‘Multiply.’ Not very often does a song reach through the headphones, grab you and say ‘I am your destiny,’ but it happened twice in 2005, first with Dressy Bessy’s ‘The Things That You Say That You Do,’ and later with ‘Multiply.’

The unquantifiable aspect of Dressy Bessy still remains – are there hidden subliminal messages? Is this what makes people like bands like Hanson? – but suffice that I’ve enjoyed the pop goodness that Tammy Ealom and her backing band serve up every time. Further explorations of the band’s past show that Ms. Ealom is married to the guitarist, John Hill, who is a former member of the seminal Apples In Stereo (and if I ever pick up an Apples album, it will most likely be on next year’s list).

One other side note about the band: In addition to being the show I saw most over the past year (twice), Dressy Bessy’s 2005 release Electrified was compared to Coldplay’s newest self-righteous whiny opus, X&Y, on an NPR show. Guess which one came out on top.

Hint: It wasn’t the one whose lead singer has a child named Apple.

Standout tracks: ‘Just Once More,’ ‘The Things That You Say That You Do,’ ‘Girl You Shout!’

7. Gus Gus, Polydistortion. [1997]
An album notable for its obscure ubiquity – if you’ve ever heard anything Paul Oakenfold has ever done, you’ve heard his mix of ‘Purple’ – Polydistortion has a few other little tricks up its sleeve. Most of the trippy downbeat numbers that came out of the late 1990s, anything other than, say, after Tricky’s Maxinquaye or Massive Attack’s Mezzanine, was mostly uninspired sonic mush.

Then I picked up the track ‘Believe’ and realized there was one more album to add to that canon. Sporting enough cowbell to satisfy even the most feverish Christopher Walken, ‘Believe’ is one of those tracks that makes your want to sit and nod your head. And listen to it, over and over again. It’s so chillingly downbeat that it becomes invigorating. Then you find the drumless ‘Why?’ satisfying your until-this-point-unknown need for a Hammond organ over smooth female vocals asking ‘Is this what you want?’ Listen and enjoy.

Standout tracks: ‘Gun,’ ‘Believe,’ ‘Why?’ ‘Is Jesus Your Pal?’

8. Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire, The Swimming Hour. [2001]
The 1920s must have been a great decade. There were flappers and the was jazz and people listened to ragtime music with the knowledge that yes, things were just great, thank you. Andrew Bird likes his Golden Twenties. He also likes his zydeco. And his plucked guitar. And his violin.

While working to shed his ‘I’m just a contributor to the Squirrel Nut Zippers’ image, Bird created a record full of styles, from straight-ahead rock (‘Satisfied’) to some strange silent-movie film-noir spaghetti-western soundtrack (‘Way Out West’). Not all the tracks satisfy, as he moves into ironic humor music territory best left to Frank Zappa (‘Dear Old Greenland’), but overall you’re welcome into Bird’s tour of his limitless imagination and mastery of musical styles.

Standout tracks: ‘Case In Point,’ ‘Too Long,’ ‘Way Out West,’ ‘Satisfied.’

9. DJ Kicks: Nightmares on Wax. [2000]
The problem with throwing a party is that one girl who says ‘I don’t like this stuff you’re playing. You should play something better,’ using her best whiny, daddy-fix-this voice.

Forget about listening to her, because you just found the best party album ever, and Nightmares on Wax went ahead and pre-mixed it for you. Like the DJ that he is, George Evelyn takes some of his own low-end heavy, chilled Nightmares on Wax tracks seamlessly into hip-hop party mashups of Tribe Called Quest classics (‘We on an award tour / with Muhammad my man / goin’ each and every place with the mic in my hand’) and some old jams you most likely missed (Saukrates’ ‘Ay Ay Stutter’).

Stop worrying about your party playlist and just put this on. If that whiny girl doesn’t like it, tell her to wait until the next brilliant track. If she doesn’t like that, kick her out. She has bad taste in music anyway.

Standout tracks: ‘Ay Ay Stutter,’ ‘Get On Down,’ ‘Award Tour,’ ‘Alphabet Aerobics.’

10. Sigur Ros, ( ). [2002]
Sigur Ros was great and well and fine and hip enough to like until I attended the band’s live show.

Then I was a full-on convert to this strange, atmospheric moodiness sung in a made-up language. After a sit-down concert at the Chicago Theater, a venue nice enough to sport frescoes and sculptures, I understood why, for example, the lead singer played his guitar with a bow. I understood, for example, why the opening act used a bent saw – as in the carpentry tool – as an instrument. That reason is to create Good Music. But I only came to this realization after the crescendo of the untitled eighth track on this album, known as The Pop Song.

Jon Thor Birgisson worked himself into such a lather over the song’s 11 minutes that at its climax, after using horsehair bow on his electric guitar as if it were a violin, he began violently smashing it on the strings to create one of the most tingling live music experiences ever because he was screaming at the top of his lungs in Biblical gibberish while his drummer beat away arhythmically and the keyboards were played with smashing fists, not tinkling fingers, and some staccato approximation of a silent horror movie projected by a green strobe light assaulted you from a reflective backdrop … and the crowd was completely silent.

In short, it was a great show, and this is a good album.

Standout tracks: ‘4’ (Njosnavelin), ‘6’ (E-Bow), ‘8’ (The Pop Song).

Tonight, we bring you a very special presentation of Things Gone Horribly Wrong, featuring the Black Eyed Peas.

We suggest small children and those with weak constitutions to leave immediately. This gets ugly.

Exhibit A: The Peas, circa 1998.

In the fall of 1998, the guy who sat across from me in drawing class mentioned he had just heard a great new hip-hop group, the Black Eyed Peas. The Peas had a fun single - a far cry from the West Coast hardcore sound - that fit the mood of the summer perfectly. My favorite, though, was ‘Fallin’ Up,’ which featured the lyric

I see you try to try to diss our function by stating that we can’t rap
Is it ’cause we don’t wear Tommy Hilfiger or baseball caps?

Sure, the Peas weren’t breaking new ground, but they were fun. Just feel-good rhymes: nothing heavy, nothing overbearing. Better yet, this indie rap crew was all about flaunting its status as the underdog. The three MCs - one was even Latino! - were the new kids in the room with their hands in the air saying ‘Hey! Tribe Called Quest! Hey! De La Soul! Hey! You like our album? Huh? Please?’

The second album followed form. The group was getting guest spots from Macy Gray and Mos Def, accomplished artists themselves, and the sound was tighter, the production more polished. But never did the three members lose sight of what they were and were trying to do, as this was the era of frontman Will.I.Am writing lines like

I know I’m not the only one that’s filling the void
Creatively hip-hop is being destroyed
We the only crew that came original
while a lot of other brothers just mimic the pile
The pile that’s only designed for pop charts
that contradicts thought, that’s the reason we brought
it back cause honestly it lacks
talent and creativity, in fact

And thus began the inevitable plunge to hell.

Exhibit B: The Peas, circa 2003.

The band picked up some hopeless Kids Incorporated reject, Fergie, who immediately bastardized the sound into a hopeless call-and-response pastiche of ‘[guys] she be [her] Fergie [guys] from the crew [her] BEP’ and such. I’ll be honest: ‘Hey Mama’ was an infectious track. But the writing was on the wall and, when an NBA endorsement deal came calling, the Peas were ready to make the jump from credible, if timid, MCs to full-blown pop darlings.

Let me be clear on this: Fergie is a succubus.

This foul being has twisted the band into something grotesque - and she gets to sing lead on these songs. No longer does Taboo rap in Spanish. Hell, I don’t know if Taboo does anything. The Black Eyed Peas, a crew that would gamely try to breakdance at shows and make rhymes about ‘black to Asian, and caucasian,’ have now dropped a ’song’ so devoid of life that your back seizes up in discomfort upon listening.

You’ve heard it on MTV or whereever. Do a lyric comparison - look at the songs above, then read the stellar lyricism of ‘My Humps.’

What you gonna do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I’m a get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My lovely little lumps

The descent into hell is complete.

And so it goes in the circle of death and rebirth, we must look for the next Good Song. Once you find it, let me know, as I’ll be sitting in complete darkness learning Gregorian chant to loosen the hold of ‘my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump’ on my sanity.

And look at that second picture again: Fergie wet herself on stage at a concert in Miami. Her lovely lady schlumps!

A story in today’s Tempo section of the Tribune caught my eye: ‘To kids raised on rap, Hancock explores link to jazz.’ It begins:

Herbie Hancock opened obliquely, with a few splashy chords and a couple of rumbling bass notes.

But once he dug into the gently swaying groove that drives his classic “Cantaloupe Island,” the kids literally started screaming.

Instantly, they raised their hands, rocked in their seats, shouted out their approval and otherwise carried on as if they were relishing the latest hip-hop hit — rather than a jazz tune penned eons ago, in the 1960s.

That’s what I’m saying. Hancock, who was originally from Chicago, was playing at a session organized by the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz yesterday. Herbie Hancock: Making heads nod since 1961.

After years of going to concerts, I’ve noticed quite a few instances of the I’m Pretty Much Ready to Go Home phenomenon.

I’m at a show - either highly anticipated or run-of-the-mill, it doesn’t appear to matter - and after 45 minutes or so, I’m ready to go. I could be listening to (read: enjoying) the CD at home, actually understanding the lyrics, not going deaf by virtue of the sadistic sound guy putting his levels too high and free of drunken, flailing people, rather than remaining at the overpacked, hot concert venue. I’m guessing we’ve all felt this same impulse, at one time or another.

I thus preface my discussion of last night’s show with the above disclaimer, because nothing about Sìgur Rós at the Chicago Theater last night matched those situations.

I had listened to the band on the recommendation of nearly every music critic in the world, who characterize the Icelandic quartet’s sounds as ’sprawling’, ‘atmospheric’ and ‘a cathartic blast of tautly constructed group noise.’ (All of these are meant in the most positive way, of course.) Sure, it’s good, but it’s not the type of record you put on a party. I found it great for headphone listening while writing, late at night, tho. Then I went to the show. I did so much spacing out - just thinking about life and scheming to take of the world, that sort of thing - to this background of noise that was somehow appropriate to every thought I had. Then the lead singer - who spoke only Icelandic, marking the first time I’ve been to a show at which the band never directly addressed the audience - started freaking wailing on his guitar with his cello bow. My reverie broken, I felt the music reach a crescendo, as the singer’s bow strings frayed and broke. Amid the chaotic changing images projected on the stage’s screen, he fell to his knees just as the band hit the final chord of the evening.

That was pretty OK, in a spine-tingly, holy-crap-that-was-amazing way.

The above picture sucks, I know. Granted, as I took it, I was greeted with a chorus of ‘Lame!’ by my partner in crime for the evening, Michelle, who’s a black-and-white film-only photographer. Snob. I’m proud of the fact that the image was snapped with a digital phone camera.

And I did get to see Dressy Bessy last Tuesday too. Too bad the picture’s not as good as last time. Like I planned, I did not do anything reprehensibly stupid, and even said hello to the band. I would highly recommend the two-person collective Talkdemonic, the opener. I’m pretty sure everyone that stayed until the end of the show were the same ones who attended the band’s last show two months ago - the same ten people. That’s the definition of a hardcore fan base.

There are only a few people trustworthy enough with a fall playlist to make suggestions for track addenda … and one of them spoke up. Thus appendix A of the Official 2005 Fall Playlist.

The Young Dubliners, ‘Bodhran.’ As the first track off their album Red, ‘Bodhran’ sets the mood with Irish fiddles over an undeniably catchy beat. The Young Dubs will forever be linked to the autumn season by virtue of the fact that we discovered them while they were opening for Jethro Tull.

The Guess Who, ‘New Mother Nature/No Sugar Tonight.’ Falling two songs after the best breakup song of all time, ‘No Time,’ off their album American Woman, this is one of those songs to which you already know the lyrics (or at least the hook). It starts slowly, unauspiciously, but before long you’re rocking out, chanting the Sound of Music-esque lyrics ‘da doo da dah dah dah da dow …’ And, try as they might, any onlookers who would normally make fun of you are rocking out too.

Ben Folds Five, ‘Battle of Who Could Care Less.’ Because you think ‘The Rockford Files’ actually is cool and postmodern songs with ironic aesthetic distance can be self-referntially hip. And the fact that ‘Battle’ makes a great singalong helps too.

I’ve started a few posts, but most of them ended up as rants against placing blame on the true causes of Hurricane Katrina, or banal discussions about this one episode of MTV’s ‘My Super Sweet 16’ that ended with the line ‘try and beat that party, bitches.’

Actually, maybe I will post on ‘My Super Sweet 16.’

But there is one thing for sure: It’s (close enough to) the fall season. And for some reason, songs you hear in the autumn stay with you, as opposed to saccharine summer tracks that you claim ‘this is my jam’ for about two weeks, then forget ever existed. Fall is a season for open windows, for eating pumpkin pie, for wearing jeans and sweaters. Without further adieu, the Official Fall 2005 Playlist:

Andrew Bird, ‘A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left.’ I still haven’t heard the rest of his new album, The Mysterious Production of Eggs. I’m guessing it’s as good as this, though, since Bird rarely fails to deliver haunting melodies, with plucked violin, bowed violin and guitars layers building before breaking into a two-person vocal harmony. And when was the last time you heard the word ‘bereft’ in a pop song?

Beck, ‘Black Tambourine.’ I’m slowly coming to appreciate Guero more and more. I take a track at a time, listen to it for a week or so, chew on the fatty parts and move on. ‘Black Tambourine’ is simply the latest in a line of standout Beck tracks. It’s got a great bassline, dig?

Common, ‘Testify.’ I’m still trying to figure out if the ‘before you lock my love away’ hook is a sample or not. Either way, the only thing that brings this track down is when the female vocals compete with Common’s flow. He’s a better MC than Kanye. Get over it.

Elysian Fields, ‘Black Acres.’ From the album Queen of the Meadow, this song entered permanent fall rotation last year. Slow. Somber. Sexy. Jennifer Charles, possibly the breathiest voice in pop music, sings ‘it’s so refined, this little death,’ referring to the French ‘le petit mort.’ Figure out that Victorian reference on your own.

Euphoria, ‘Delirum’ (Fila Brazilia mix). I found this one on Fila Brazilia’s Brazilificaion: Remixes 95-99 disc, and my first impulse was that I should have been listening to it in some dark lounge, drinking a Manhattan. And I like that feeling, so on the playlist it goes.

Franz Ferdinand, ‘Do You Want To.’ Sure, it’s not even yet released, but dammit, Franz has me hooked on hipster dance rock. True story: A friend came back from a Franz show, and was floored by the number of scenster hipsters that were actually moving - they’re just that damn catchy.

Handsome Boy Modeling School feat. Roisin and J-Live, ‘The Truth.’ Funkiest. Beat. Ever. J-Live’s a little weak, but he does work in a rhyme for ‘ceteris parabus,’ so he’s forgiven.

Jethro Tull, ‘Sossity; You’re a Woman,’ or ‘Acres Wild’ or … pretty much any song. Jethro Tull is the reason fall is so great. Jethro Tull is fall music. Stop listening to Aqualung and experience one of the other 20 or so albums.

Matthew Sweet, ‘Ugly Truth Rock.’ Much like Beck, I discover Matthew Sweet songs one at a time, despite owning both Girlfriend and Altered Beast. The latter has recently delivered ‘Ugly Truth Rock,’ which was recommended with the footnote of ‘one of my favorite cruising songs while the leaves are turning … I can smell the piles of leaves burning in my hometown,’ by Dave.

Red Snapper, ‘Keeping Pigs Together.’ It’s pretty much your favorite spy movie, only set to better music. This isn’t the hayride sort of fall soundtrack, this is more the driving-at-sunset-with-the-windows-open fall soundtrack.

Van Morrison, ‘Days Like This.’ As it was explained to me, this is the all-purpose fall song. And that’s right: No matter your affect at any given time, from despondent to content, this song fits. The only other track I can think of right now that fits that criterion is Otis Redding’s ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay,’ which is obviously a summer song. So Van Morrison it is.

Wilco, ‘Theologians.’ The thing about Jeff Tweedy songs is that I understand them. Or so I say. Then I get to lyrics like ‘I’m all emotion / I’m a cherry ghost’ and I think, ‘no, I don’t understand this.’ But I still get it, at least.