1999 was a good year for music, and I probably bought more CDs in 1999 and 2000 than at any other time in my life. Part of the reason for my excitement in music stemmed from my age and where I was at that time in my life, but the other, probably larger, reason came from Napster. Napster created a social environment built around music that made it easy to listen to new things, connect with like-minded people, and access out-of-print music.

One of the misconceptions that people had and continue to have of Napster, is that everyone on it simply stopped buying music and downloaded everything for free. That is patently false. True, Napster made me a more discerning consumer of music. I could sample all the tracks from an upcoming CD, instead of relying on the one or two tracks on the radio. Consequently, I didn’t end up buying a CD that had only one good song, but I probably bought more music on a whole because I was able to find new things quickly, and I wasn’t wasting my money on shitty CDs with one decent track (Jimmy Ray, I’m looking at you).

Also, the tracks available on Napster were usually of poor quality, and there’s simply something cool about owning the physical disc and album artwork. Things I liked I bought. iTunes, Amazon MP3, and Last.fm have proven that this model is still viable. Offer free music or high quality samples as an incentive and as a goodwill effort, and if the price is reasonable, people will actually buy more music.

Napster originally started as a place for fans to trade live recordings of their favorite bands, and until its demise, Napster was the best place in the world to find live or out-of-print material. I had a good number of MP3s that were from concerts, or international recordings that are difficult or impossible to find now. Sadly, I suffered a hard drive crash in 2001 and lost all those files (yes, I back up now). So, if anyone knows where I can get ALT and the Lost Civilization’s version of “Tequilla,” or Candyman’s “Who Shakes the Best II,” please email me.

And then Metallica got all pissy and decided to start issuing lawsuits all willy-nilly because their song “I Disappear” appeared on the Napster network. They had yet to release the song, and they were mad that fans had it before it went on sale. I still wonder why they got mad at the fans. It’s not like a big group of us broke into the studio, stole the masters, and then ripped them into MP3s. Someone who worked for Metallica had to leak the song onto Napster, but instead of finding that one guy and dealing with him, Metallica starting suing people. Colleges. College students. Napster. Sean Fanning. Sue everybody. And Napster slowly died.

Now, I’m not saying that illegal stuff wasn’t taking place on Napster. It most certainly was. But Napster was a work in progress. A brand new way for people to deal with digital music, and it could have been cultivated and reigned in to become responsible. Instead, Metallica showed the RIAA that it payed to sue people for downloading music, and they single-handedly created the litigious and antagonistic attitude that is now part and parcel of the RIAA’s attitude towards the internet. Sue them. Shut it down. Alienate.

And now guess what? Metallica hasn’t been relevant for more than ten years, and they suddenly realized that the internet might very well be a good location for them to gain fans. So now they’re going to offer music for free. Because you know, their last album, “St. Anger,” had softer sales than pulled pork sandwiches at an Eid ul-Fitr party.

I shall offer my reaction to Metallica’s latest internet effort in visual form:

I also read that Gene Simmons thinks the internet is the reason that music sales are down. He claims that:

“The record industry is dead. It’s six feet underground and unfortunately the fans have done this…They’ve decided to download and file share. There is no record industry around so we’re going to wait until everybody settles down and becomes civilized. As soon as the record industry pops its head up we’ll record new material.”

So, P2P and file-sharing is single-handedly responsible for stopping the release of another “album” like “Psycho Circus” or “Carnival of Souls”?

Thank God for file-sharing.

As a student of english literature, I’ve always had a hard time with poetry. There are a handful of poets that I like, and who I will read for pleasure, but for the most part the majority of the poetry I’ve read and am knowledgeable about is the product of my education. Poetry, and especially poetry following the Romantics, is too much work for me to enjoy. I’m not one of those cats that can just “feel” a poem, so I have to sit there and read, read, and re-read the damn thing until I’m finally able to decipher it like a Sudoku puzzle. Some people might say I’m just not passionate enough to fully appreciate poetry. To those people I say, “not so.” Why, just yesterday I had myself a good and thorough cry (Stand by Me was on…or was it Armageddon). I’m also intrinsically non-musical, so trying to graph, or even hear, metric patterns aggravates me more than a toothache at an ice cream party.

For my tastes, rap hip-hop is more entertaining than modern poetry. I apologize to all my literature-brethren about this. I obviously have a flawed poetry-palate. My guess is that rap is so simplistic that even my moronic brain can understand it. Case in point: the new track “Flyentology” from El-P’s album I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead. I’m loving it. Here’s the video:

El-P also wrote a poem, “A Draconian Love Song,” that I thought was pretty good (again, take my poetic analysis with a grain of salt.) I’d cut and paste his poem, but since he’s a blogger and he posted on his blog, I’m simply providing him a link. I’d rather him get the traffic than me.

I’d also like to point out that fellow blogger Anniina has been writing and posting poetry to her blog for quite a while. And if you think reading poetry is hard, well, writing it is exponentially harder, and I’m super-envious of her poetic chops. She’s been curiously quiet of late. Maybe some traffic will spur the Muse.

It’s ten past eleven at night. I’m sitting in my recliner with the computer in my lap watching “Good Eats” (the Spinach Salad episode). Ellie’s sleeping soundly under her favorite down blanket on the couch. In a few minutes I’ll probably make myself a Nutella-sandwich and wash it down with a big glass of cold milk.

By all accounts I should feel pretty content.

But I don’t. I’m simultaneously anxious and depressed, and no matter how much Excedrin I take, my damn head just will not stop throbbing.

Since this blog isn’t a cyber-substitute for therapy, I shan’t elaborate further, but I will say that before I tuned in to A.B. I made the idiotically tragic mistake of watching some election coverage. Answer me this: Is Sean Hannity serious? Surely his show is a parody of some sort. And what the fuck is up with Larry King? I’m not sure he’s even paying attention to his guests anymore. Rosario Dawson was on his show tonight promoting her organization, “Voto Latino,” and while she was talking Larry abruptly and inexplicably cut to a promo. I think Larry forgot he was talking to someone. And if Paul Begala’s smile gets any wider the sides of his mouth will touch his freakin’ earlobes.

Leigh and I plan on voting tomorrow. Part of me is excited to participate in a primary where Texas, and my individual vote, actually matters.

But the Gen-Xer in me just knows that the system will never allow a candidate who actually cares about the American people to get into office. My generationally imbued-cynicism keeps whispering in my ear, “Forget hope…Forget change…Expect the same…Expect the same…”

I’m a big fan of the ongoing writers’ strike. First off, it’s entertaining to see Elaine in the picket line, wearing a crappy pair of sweats and a sucking on a bottle of water. I also love the notion of Jay Leno delivering donuts to the strikers on his big, stupid Harley, like some kind of Hell’s Angel delivery boy.

But aside from the entertainment aspect, the strike represents a group of artists, standing up as one, proclaiming “We’re mad as hell, and we’re not gonna take it anymore!”

For those of you who aren’t pop culture zombies, the Writer’s Guild of America (WGA) called for a writers strike after the production companies refused to renegotiate the writers’ wages. Of particular contention in the negotiation were the residuals of DVD and internet sales. Writers receive no compensation for material sold over the internet, and they only receive four cents from each DVD sold. The production studios claim these two forms of media are nothing more than promotional tools; meanwhile, the studios air fewer and fewer reruns, and rake in the cash on DVD and iTunes sales.

I’m a big fan of this strike, mainly because I’m a big fan of standing up to crappy organizations. And if this sounds vaguely communist, well, deal with it. Marx and Engels had some interesting stuff to say. Politically, I like to think of myself as a Repubocratitarian anyway.

I’d be tempted to call myself an independent, but those people are fucking nuts.

No, I support this strike simply because it’s another incident in a long line of incidents where a media company has lost control of its media. I find entropy entertaining, which, funnily enough, is the same reason I support file-sharing. The RIAA and the MPAA are suing the pants off of anyone they catch file-sharing not because they are losing money, or because file-sharers represent a true danger to their bottom lines, but more because file-sharers are usurping power away from the RIAA and MPAA. The current paradigm is breaking down, and no longer are the MPAA and RIAA the principal power-holders of their respective media.

And don’t give me that shit about stealing from artists. If you think that by downloading a CD from a torrent site you’re stealing a massive amount from an artist then think again. Most musicians get less than a dollar for each CD sale, and many of them get mere pennies. If you buy used CDs then they get nothing at all. No, if you want to support your favorite artist then go see them in concert, or buy some of their merchandise, because that’s where they really make their money. If you’re really serious about supporting the artist then use the money you saved not buying their grossly over-priced CD to buy a T-shirt at their concert.

Just as the writers now refuse to work, many musicians are beginning to get angry about this disproportionate profiteering on the part of the record labels and the RIAA. Trent Reznor will release the next NIN album sans production company and completely free on the internet. If you want, you’ll be able to buy a very high quality version of the album (higher quality than a CD) off of his website. Reznor also recently partnered with Saul Williams, and they released the album “The Inevitable Rise and Fall of Niggy Tardust” in the same manner (it’s an interesting album, and yes, I paid for it, just as I will the new NIN album). Radiohead just offered their new album for free, and many other artists have started realizing that they can bypass production companies altogether and sell their music at a much greater profit directly to the fans.

I’m glad the writers, and artists in general, are standing up and demanding that they receive adequate and fair prices for their art. Without the artists producing commercially viable products, the production companies wouldn’t exist in the first place. DVD sales have kept many studios in the black, and to hoard all that money away from the writers is reprehensible.

But as much as I enjoy watching the whole debacle, I hope they reach a resolution quickly. If new episodes of “The Daily Show” don’t start airing pretty soon, I’m gonna have to hire a psychiatrist to help me deal with all the bullshit in the world.

At the end of my day I have two classes back to back. Back to back classes aren’t necessarily a bad thing, as the two hours just zip by, but when my adrenaline’s faded at the end of those two classes I feel exhausted. It may not sound like a lot of work, but standing up in front of a group of twenty-five students teaching for nearly two hours is actually quite draining.

The walk from my office to the parking lot is my time to sorta decompress. I walk slowly. I drink in the afternoon and savor the sunlight. I bring an extra granola bar to work specifically so I can enjoy it as I leave.

Today, as I was leisurely strolling and enjoying my chocolate chip granola bar…a bird shit on my left shoulder. Just shit right on me.

I might think that the universe was tying to tell me something, if I believed in such things.

After I got into the Jeep and turned on the radio, Clutch’s song “Electric Worry,” began to play. I really like this song. Not enough to make me forget about my shitty shoulder, but I still like it. Listening to this song makes me want to drink a warm, cheap beer and play pool on a marred up pool table with a wobbly pool cue. It might not be Muddy Waters or John Lee Hooker, but it’s still a semi-blues tune, and after receiving a turd on the shoulder hearing it calmed me down.

While looking at the blog today I realized I haven’t written a post in the “Music” category in quite a while. I have a couple of reasons for this–for one thing, my musical palate pretty much reached the peak of its sophistication with Down Boys and Youth Gone Wild, which means I’m completely unqualified to recognize engaging new music.

Also, I rarely listen to music on the radio. Since I’m not likely to hear the latest and greatest tunes on the talk radio stations I tend to fall back to the same crap I’ve been listening to for the last ten years, hence my embarrassing obsession with 80’s hair metal. And since I’m pretty sure no one wants to hear me rant and rave about Quiet Riot and Slaughter I wisely keep my yapper shut in regards to music.

But every once in a while I happen to catch a new song that catches my fancy, and when that happens, I like to share my new find. Here’s Finger Eleven with their song “Paralyzer:”

Rumors are a swirlin’ all over the internet that the upcoming Die Hard sequel “Live Free or Die Hard” will be toned down to receive a PG-13 rating.

That means that all the violence has to be blood-free, and John will only be able to utter the f-word a single time in the whole movie, and I’m pretty sure that he won’t be able to smoke, either.

I already expressed my reservations about this movie months ago, but now I’m really, really depressed. And yes, I realize I just said I’m depressed about a Die Hard movie. McClane means a lot to me, okay? I want to hear John McClane grumble “I’ve got a bad fuckin’ headache” as he indiscriminately sprays pounds of ammo at the bad-guys. I want to see him stab a guy right in the eye with a foot-long icicle. And in my mind, if John doesn’t yell “You MOTHERFUCKER” as he punches a guy repeatedly in the ribs then it just ain’t a Die Hard movie.

If this gets a PG-13 I’ll just stay at home and watch my Die Hard Trilogy set and make-believe the new movie doesn’t exist. Just in case you’ve forgotten the awesomeness of the Die Hard series, here’s an excellent montage of clips from the first three movies, edited to sync up with the totally cool song “Die Hard” by the band Guyz Nite.

And I’ll go ahead and apologize if you go around all day singing the “Yippiiiiieeeee Kiiiiiii Yayyy Motherfuckerrrrrrrrr!” portion from the chorus of the song.

I don’t feel much like writing a post tonight, but for you enjoyment, and my general sanity, I’d like to present the music video for the tune “Secret.” There’s nothing like some Adam Sandler and Nick Swardson to brighten a day (there are a couple of swear words, so don’t turn it up too loud if there are sensitive ears lurking about):

I guess I should go ahead and apologize in advance for implanting that song in your head. It’ll bounce around in your skull whether you want it to or not.

“Fell On Black Days” — Soundgarden

For the upcoming movie “Black Snake Moan,” Samuel L. Jackson, in addition to acting, contributed four songs to the soundtrack. In the film, Jackson portrays an aging blues singer that takes it upon himself to rehabilitate a promiscuous young lady, played by Christina Ricci. And by “rehabilitating,” I mean he ties a tow-chain around her skinny little waist and holds her hostage while using his bluesy wisdom to cut through her self-destructive behavior. Here’s the trailer.

One of the songs on the soundtrack sung by Jackson, “Stack ‘O Lee” is a cover of a classic blues tune. A tune, by the way, that has a fascinating backstory, which reaches goes all the way back to 1895 in the Mississippi Delta. I wholeheartedly recommend that you read up on it.

The song is really good. The growling electric guitar sounds like it’s coming out of a crappy Peavey amp in a shifty bar, the drums sound chest-shakingly guttural, and Jackson’s gravelly voice is grimy and tough. When I listen to the song I can imagine standing in a bar full of stale cigarette smoke, with the humming neon beer signs providing the majority of the room’s light. I can almost taste the bitter aftertaste of the last beer still lingering on the back of my tongue. The floor’s sticky from thousands of spilled drinks, and everyone in the room is fixated on the band on the stage at the end of the room. The stage, by the way, which is only six inches off the sawdust covered dance floor. The band isn’t dressed up in fancy outfits. One or two of the band members are still wearing their work clothes from their day jobs, and instead of playing to the audience with outlandish behavior, they’re simply there to play. They don’t talk to the crowd in between songs or sets. They don’t even introduce the songs. They just play. And they play with the intensity and soul that only comes from having nothing else good in their lives except the music that they play. Have a listen (There’s some cussing in the song, so if you’re at work, don’t turn it all the way up):

I love music that tells a story and that has an actual narrative. And that’s one hell of a narrative, ain’t it? You’re damn right it is.