Ideapad

So it has come to this: in our UX-obsessed moment, the new rock radio station in New York is WRXP, "The Rock Experience." That can't last.

Neither, I bet, can RXP's playlist, because it's so damn good.

For the first time in years, if not decades, New York's overly segmented, overly conservative FM dial has a station that's willing to mix it up. WRXP is the only commercial station I know that says, "Yeah, that rocks," and puts on an artist regardless of subgenre or popularity.

It's more or less a modern rock station, but to RXP, that doesn't mean Nirvana and the Pixies, full stop. To quote the launch press release, the playlist is "not determined by era, but rather by the acoustic quality of each song, as determined directly by on-air personalities and staff."

The results are nothing short of astounding (again, in New York radio terms). The artist roster I've heard this weekend ranged from Dave Matthews to the Jam (the Jam!) to ancient Aerosmith cuts to Death Cab for Cutie to the Alarm (the motherfucking Alarm!) to Sheryl Crow. All on one station.

Few radio stations exist that would play Sheryl Crow's new single and the Velvet Underground in the same sequence, but somehow, miraculously, this station landed in New York.

In short: phenomenal.

This broad-minded rock fan hopes and prays that incoming morning man Matt Pinfield--who, I'm guessing, has also been hired as music director--keeps it interesting. Scott Muni would be proud.

Posted by David Wertheimer at 1:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Updates on my music notes from last week:

1. Jon Pareles agrees with my Madonna observation in this weekend's New York Times Arts section, although he takes it more positively than me: "It's the kind of album a record company longs for in the current embattled market: a set of catchy, easily digestible, mass-appeal songs by a star who's not taking chances.... Her grand statement on 'Hard Candy' is nothing more than that she's still around and can still deliver neat, calculated pop songs."

2. When I tell other "AI" watchers David Cook is dweeby, they look at me in shock. Which tells me two things. One, that a Simon Cowell-anointed series of appearances on national television, coupled with some honest to goodness talent, does wonders for one's public impression. And two, that his combover is really good.

3. Seriously: new music from the Odds! Go listen!

Posted by David Wertheimer at 9:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

1. I figured out this morning my disappointment in Madonna's 4 minutes: she's running with the pack. Timbaland and Justin Timberlake are ringers, sure shots, contemporary 2007-2008 American pop.

Yawn. I loves me the Timbalake output, but not in this context. This is not the Madonna who brought Eurodisco and gay culture to pop, who helped define music video, who discovered or promoted talent ranging from William Orbit to Alanis Morissette to Ali G. Madonna's new track suggests that, for the first time, she isn't ahead of the game. Which, as a near-50-year-old mother of three, perhaps she doesn't have to be. But it's a game-changer for her, and not in a positive way.

2. I'm watching "American Idol" this season for the first time (Amy's fault), and I have two observances. First, that it truly is a popularity contest--Carly Smithson was by far more deserving than the pretty-boy and flaxen-haired competition that remains.

Second, and more importantly, David Cook is my hero. If that guy wins, man, it's like a dream come true for a million dweeby high school guitar god wannabes. Gotta love a guy who name-checks Big Wreck and Patrick Swayze on his national profile.

3. Seriously, have you listened to the New Odds yet? Brendan Benson could learn a thing or two from Craig Northey, I tell you what.

Posted by David Wertheimer at 11:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Six-Word Reviews of 763 SXSW Mp3s on The Morning News proves that Paul Ford is an insane, overcommitted, inspired genius.

It is as it says: as many music files as Paul could drum up from this year's South by Southwest festival, reviewed in exactly six words. (The six-word write-up, if you hadn't heard, is a hot trend right now.)

The writeups are the genuis part.
"Rocks like a dad-bought Camaro."
"Soft pink vagina frosted jazz cupcakes."
"The pinnacle of cock-rock horseshit."
"You can love Neko Case too much."

The insane, inspired, and overcommitted part is, well, the rest of it. Every band he could find, alphabetized, chronicled, linked to two places, reviewed and rated on a 5-star scale. Then, because it's Paul, there are the pull-outs: more than a dozen charts, graphs, summaries and observations. Which makes the chart more palatable and, no doubt, kept the research interesting, too.

I have much work ahead of me just digesting the page. Can barely fathom the work--by one man--that went into it. But then this is the same guy who more or less singlehandedly scanned 150 years of Harper's magazine and cleaned up the OCR for a web archive, so I'm not surprised. Just blinking a lot. Great, great stuff.

Posted by David Wertheimer at 11:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I have been married for four years and cohabitating for five. My wife and I have bought and raised a puppy together, traveled around the world and integrated with each other's families. We share a home, a computer, chores, jokes and our deepest, most emotional thoughts.

Through it all, we have had separate CD collections.

This afternoon we had two 9' tall bookcases installed in our living room. The one on the left has the express purpose of holding music, for despite my embrace of technology--including a first-generation iPod and an extensive MP3 collection--I still maintain a library of 1200 CDs, the majority of which are in our apartment. Amy, to her credit, has a few hundred discs of her own (and also to her credit, she tolerates the sheer bulk of mine).

So it was sensible enough when, as I began carrying music from my old racks to the new bookcase, my wife said, "Let's keep all our CDs together."

You'd think we'd have tackled this years ago. After all, we share a common iTunes library, Amy having given up on a her-only subset on her side of the Mac.

But even today, I paused. My collection is going to cheerfully swallow hers. The crazy category system I created, to avoid alphabetizing a thousand CDs, will turn my wife's Cheryl Crow discs into "female vocal" and her Melissa Etheridge into "rock/alternative." I suspect Amy will never even attempt to find her music in the sea of CD spines, much less succeed in locating her albums.

And her tastes create confusion in areas I had reconciled on my own. Peter Gabriel? For me: classic rock. To her: "Classic rock? Really?" Where does her Maroon 5 disc go? Seal? Barry Manilow? (Seriously, Amy--Barry Manilow?)

So far I've managed to integrate her classic rock with mine (though not, it should be noted, her Peter Gabriel discs), which has already thrown my organization out of whack, as the category has doubled in size. It's kind of fun. And terrifically nerve-wracking.

My wife and I are deeply connected in our values and desires. We do not share much in the way of musical taste. But somehow, in some way, her Deep Forest and my Kiss CDs are going to find a way to coexist.

Posted by David Wertheimer at 11:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)