The wrong time.
The wrong place.
And a day at the beach becomes . . .
A nightmare.

If Shark Week in hi-def on the Discovery Channel doesn’t call for a tribute playlist, then I can’t imagine what would.

photo credit: petersbar

Mark Farina, “Dropped into Water”

Swim, swim.

This track kicks off the series of unfortunate mishaps that lead us to interface with our sharks.  It’s quirky and jovial — jazzy, even — as befits a tranquil, tropical scenario in which nothing has tried to eat us yet.

Frightened Rabbit, “Swim until You Can’t See Land“

I saw these guys a couple Januarys ago, on a very snowy night in Allston, Mass.  This is not my favorite of their songs, but it’s catchy, and it represents an important part of the adventure:

. . . And a nod to the boredom that drove me here,
To face the tide . . . and swim . . .

O the arrogance of man, driven by boredom to tapdance on danger’s doorstep.  Meanwhile:

Are you a man, or are you a bag of sand?

An important existential question to broach with oneself regularly.

Experimental Dental School, “A Seal is a Shark’s Meal”

I saw these folks live, as well, a couple of years back.  They were opening for Deerhoof, and it was uncomfortably crowded.  But I hung tough because I hated to leave before “+81” (choo choo-choo-choo, beep beep).  Mission accomplished.

A terribly perfunctory, matter-of-fact song, both musically and lyrically.  Expect to be reminded early and often that a seal is, most assuredly, a shark’s meal.

Bonobo, “The Shark“

Clearly reflective of the shark at his emotional baseline.  He’s got nowhere in particular to be, nothing in particular to bite.  He’s moseying, inasmuch as a legless thing can mosey.  And, frankly, he’s having a pretty nice day.

I am now distracted by the thought of a playlist devoted entirely to bonobos.  It would probably consist of a lot of Marvin Gaye.

!!!, “Hammerhead“

I am an absolute sucker for !!! — the sort of music I feel compelled to grunt along with. Based on their groove, they were all but predestined to do a shark-based track.  This one begins with the band’s signature, funked-out vibe — you know the shark is grunting along with it, too — before spinning off into a percussive kerfuffle like a feeding frenzy.

Way Out West, “Sharkhunt“

The shark motif does tend to bring the electronica acts out of the woodwork.  And while I’m not entirely sure this track would be my first choice of accompaniment if I were heading out with my trusty speargun (“Rusty”), it’s a nice, middle-range dance piece (no big, club-incinerating climaxes, but neither is it a chillout mix).

Here’s where we arrive and get all up in the shark’s grill.

Freezepop, “Shark Attack“

Oh, Freezepop.  So perky when describing a potentially threatening scenario!  Although actually, that scenario seems to be a “dangerous” round of Wheel of Fortune, if we pay attention to the lyrics.  We must be ready for the very real possibility that we are now steeped in metaphor.

Regardless, it is clear that the shark has turned the proverbial tables on us.

The Drones, “Shark Fin Blues“

Not the anthem of a Shark Week fan!  Still, bits and pieces of it make for a fine narrative soundtrack to the Discover Channel’s quality programming.

I said, why don’t you get down in the sea,
Turn the water red like you want to be? . . .

Just keep one eye on the horizon, man, you best not blink.
They’re coming fin by fin until the whole boat sinks.

Sounds about right.

PsyShark, “Blue Shark“

It’s clear from this psytrance epic that we are in hazardous waters.  Some of these bloopy sounds suggest we may be running low on oxygen, as well.  The genre isn’t named for nothing; psytrance is a bit like an aural hallucination, crossbred with the melodies of a 1980s Atari game.

Perhaps PsyShark was inspired by this.

Shriekback, “Hammerheads“

Nuts.  According to this song, we have grossly misjudged the situation.  It is, in fact, “the age of the hammerheads,” which are “the darlings of God.”  We are in danger of being eaten, sure, but rejoice!  We have the option of joining their movement and becoming “hammerhead people” to save ourselves.

Yes, yes, hammerheads!  Swimming, kissing.
We are big and clever, and we don’t know anything. . . .

God save hammerheads!  Keeping going,
We are sleek and special, and we’re sure of something.

Not the most message-driven cult, perhaps, but Shriekback’s dark, Laibach-esque ranting in this track has convinced me that the fates are on the hammerheads’ side. Pass me the Kool-Aid (or chum, as it were).

Teenage Tartan Ninja Rampage, “Drown amongst the Deadmen“

A grim synth track.  I hear more danger and uncertainty here than I do a foregone conclusion of death; I’m more inclined to think the shark and I are tussling at this point. And sure, he’s got the teeth, but I’m scrappy, and not to be counted out so early.

Electrelane, “Gone under Sea“

Lively and in French, but don’t be fooled; I’ve disappeared.  I’ve “flowed under the waves,” or something to that general effect.  I underestimated the shark’s right hook.

The Surf Legends, “Can’t Kill the Shark with Coconuts“

No, no, I’m fine.  I poked him in the eye.

A more chipper and whimsical tune.  This is the one you play when you’re back on the boat, sipping a raspberry bellini and chuckling to yourself  in a self-deprecating manner about how foolish you were to try to kill the shark with a coconut.  (You may also be nursing a flesh wound.)  The song includes some happy-go-lucky whistling to drive home the fact that, sometimes, the lesson is worth the loss of limbs.

Tempting though it may be to have another go, “Air Jaws” is on now — that’s the one where the Great Whites come exploding out of the water like aliens out of John Hurt’s chest.  Not to be missed!

*     *     *

photo credit: brownpau

A playlist tribute to our beloved li’l LiLo during this, her last weekend of freedom.  It’s the least I can do.

————————————————————————————-

Filter, “My Long Walk to Jail“

Oh, the angst!  Some hearty accompaniment for any last-ditch begging or foot-stamping fits that might make their way into Entertainment Tonight. This is a robust tune to which I find myself micro-thrashing a bit in my living room.  (There’s no shame in it!) And in spite of the decidedly badass nature of the vocals and instrumentals, the lyrics suggest a marginally repentant attitude.  That’s the spirit, Filter!  Accept your comeuppance with grace and humility!

The Postal Service, “This Place is a Prison“

Woe, for this is the cautionary appeal no one made to a certain starlet back in the day — a recognition of the prison before the prison, if we may be momentarily tropological.

This place is a prison,
And this people aren’t your friends,
Inhaling thrills through $20 bills . . .
And the tumblers are drained and then flooded again
And again.

Ben Gibbard could have been a good friend to Lindsay in the days of yore.  But alas, it’s too late.

Was (Not Was), “Dad, I’m in Jail“

This track is like the great, sinister harbinger of Beavis & Butt-Head. And, all things considered, it’s remarkably upbeat!  A nice piece for when our — cough — heroine needs some psyching up, perhaps; this fellow seems to have nothing but good things to say about his experience!

I might never have known this “tune” (meeting it halfway, really) if it hadn’t been for Pump Up the Volume, so many moons ago.  Of course, I could say the same about the Pixies, Leonard Cohen, Concrete Blonde, Sonic Youth . . . .

Lo Fidelity Allstars, “Will I Get Out of Jail?“

Oh dear, a bit of a mood change here.

The time has come.
Certain death,
One last breath.

***

Oh, your majesty,
What a travesty
It is to be alive.

Is there no hope for our young inmate amidst these sluggish beats?

Ren Fetti, “Fuck Jail“

Dude!  I know, right??

This one actually kicks off with a nice, inspiring, Mel Gibson-style “FREEDOM!”  (Now, please make the comment of your choosing about the things Mel has taken to yelping these days.)  But it sounds like FREEDOM is just a pipe dream for Mr. Fetti:

Six years in the pen.
In the day room,
We went from boys to men,
Made a shank out of gray spoon.

This track deals more with the minutiae of day-to-day life in the clink: the cells, the drugs, the phone calls, the “nasty-ass showers,” the painful fact that “if your family ain’t there, it’ll make you feel neglected,” the option of becoming someone’s bitch.  A helpful primer, if you will, to be kept handy.

M. Ward, “Jailbird“

First the tirade, then the despair.  Like a country boy strummin’ from a porch swing on a hot summer’s day, M. paints a picture of a grim state of affairs: loneliness, the world turning away . . . and the hangman, hangman, knocking on the door.  Although when it comes to the question of who is going to hear Lindsay’s “help me, help me” now, my guess is . . . The Insider?  InTouch Weekly?  The Soup?

The Russian Futurists, “Pine Prisonyard”

Well, this one is perkier.  At least, it is until yet another singer (apparently) dies two thirds of the way through.  But he doesn’t seem that broken up about it.  And I hibernate in icy caves, and in the spring I’m dead. . . . Yep, just another pesky obstacle  to be overcome.

Different kind of prison, too: the heart.  A deep, rich, wildly overused metaphor that I shall magnanimously forgive.

It’s a little repetitive, though, musically speaking.  A little annoying.  Yes, I’m definitely annoyed.  Moving on.

Neko Case, “Prison Girls“

Nothing so uplifting in the lyrics, but the song’s drive and Neko’s voice are so unflinching that one might easily draw grim determination from them.  On the other hand, Neko seems to be singing about the prison girls, not from among the prison girls. Probably easier to refrain from flinching on the outside.

Messages aside, I dig this song mightily, if I may say (and I think I may).  So uncompromising.  The dame’s got moxie.

The Dropkick Murphys, “Jailbreak“

No, Lindsay!  I know the Murphys make it sound cool; dangit, they make everything sound cool!  But they’ll have a vast network of Southie Irish blood brothers helping them to shake the fuzz, and all you’ve got is Joan Rivers.  No one else is going to agree to be within a hundred miles of you.

Creed, “My Own Prison“

That’s better; back to mopey acceptance.  And the boys of Creed are master mopers.

Johnny Cash, “Folsom Prison Blues“

A classic, and not just because it inspired generations to update their respective Facebook statuses to “Beppo Jamalski shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.”  If only Johnny were still with us; he might come striding into the Century Regional Detention Center in Lynwood, California, six-string slung over his shoulder, and serve Lindsay Lohan a little slice of hope.

It’s a hot week, friends — hot and soupy.  In a heartfelt tribute to my sweat glands, I choose to pursue a thematic playlist for the moment:

———————————————————————————-

Buster Poindexter, “Hot Hot Hot“

Too easy.  Too duh.  We’ve all spent one drunken summer evening or another in an overstuffed bar with this song blaring away, braying earnestly about how “me [somethingorother . . . car?] on fire.”  We’ve all pointed at random strangers whilst shrieking, “HE’S HOT!  SHE’S HOT!”  We’ve all wondered how a man with manufactured hair like Buster’s got so many attractive women to join his conga line.  I give this track credit for being undeniable.  Just try and deny this song; it will laugh in your face and go make time with your mom.

I’m not certain I can give it credit for much else.

Fila Brazillia, “Heat Death of the Universe“

I say, I like this title; you’ve got my attention, sirs.

Now.  Much more contemplative than I expected.  Almost droopy.   The beat keeps trucking along like a good little beat, but the synth mopes aggressively to distract you from all that.  So the universe is dying, fair enough, but slowly — and while I am enjoying this low-key, most methodical little tune, I am inclined to say that I find less heat in it than just about any of its ambient brethren.

The Isley Brothers, “The Heat is On“

Why haven’t I been listening to this song for ages?  It’s loaded up with that yummy funk sound that is too hard to spell phonetically (although it would start with a W), but that you would totally know if you heard it.  The guys keep telling me to be movin’ on . . . but dangit, I just want to stay and groove!

Man/Miracle, “Hot Sprawl“

I’ve been acquainting myself with this group recently, and having fun doing it.  I’m guessing their live show is a lotta fun.  I give this selection a hearty thumbs-up.  When singer Dylan Travis starts wailing, up high, I am pummeled with flashes (flashes of Quincy!) of David Byrne in a most pleasing way.  I don’t know what the hell he’s singing about (I’m pretty sure I’m being told that “She’s got ideas” at one point), but wail on, Dylan Travis.  You’re right.  She does got ideas!

Nelly, “Hot in Herre“

It never bodes well for a song when the first words are, “I was like . . .”

So, okay, not exactly a sophisticated concept behind this one . . . and the chorus always makes me snort.  Not Nelly’s line; a rapper urging me, you, whomever, to remove our collective clothing is well-worn territory.  I mean, hell, Bow Wow did a whole song with that title, and he’s, what, eleven?  No, it’s the chick who joins in to muse aloud that yes, indeed, she thinks she would enjoy removing her clothes!

But hella catchy in its stark indignity, no?  Destined to be a frat anthem for decades — the American dream!

The Mountain Goats, “Pure Heat”

Hmm, a misfire here — I find no trace of the title in the song, neither literally nor conceptually.  A few references to kerosene don’t do it for me.  I’m bored.

Martha & the Vandellas, “(Love is Like a) Heat Wave“

I’ve heard so many later incarnations of this track that I’d all but forgotten about Martha.  I don’t spend enough time simmering in the Motown pot.

Sure, Martha’s in love, but she’s suffering, see, just like me!  After all, she suspects that there might be a devil in her, or that maybe she has high blood pressure!  These concerns are not to be taken lightly — just ask your doctor.

Meat Loaf, “Hot Summer Night/You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth“

On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

Would your answer change if it were a tepid fall Tuesday around noon?

Tricky, “Hot Like a Sauna“

Of primary importance are this song’s lyrics.  If I may present a smattering:

Harmed a girl like Monica,
Every day be like Hannukah.

***

I think I lost my tweeter
To your pussycats.
Do you call your pistols “gats”?

. . . and my personal favorite:

And with this drama,
I act like Jeffrey Dahmer.
I beat her, then I eat her.

I think I’ve covered the meat of things.

Chris Isaak, “In the Heat of the Jungle”

Oh, come now, this is a fake song, surely!  It sounds like something from the soundtrack of a 1960s sci-fi film that the fine people of MST3K have gotten a hold of. You know you’re in for trouble when a song with the word “jungle” in the title opens with a series of jungle noises.  Isaak, however, ups the ante with a group of men providing a periodic “tribal chant” as accompaniment — a “tribal chant” that sounds a bit like the chant of the guards in The Wizard of Oz.  About two thirds of the way through, we are treated to some rhythmic breathing by Isaak and a few orgasmic sounds by a random woman; I suppose this must be the African princess about whom he has been crooning.

This song is an outright hoot.  My life is richer for it.  (And yours can be, too!)

50 Cent, “Heat“

A different perspective on — ahem — beating the heat.

In the hood summer time is the killing season.
It’s hot out in this bitch, that’s a good enough reason.

Gosh, and poor Buster Poindexter thought the answer to a hot night was to go rum-bum-bum-bum.  Shows what he knows.  Apparently the appropriate reaction is to find yourself a gangsta with a twinkle in his eyes and blow his brains out (brains out).  I’m starting to understand why we don’t hear much from Buster these days.