Brandon's Buzz

Shannon McNally — “The Worst Part of a Broken Heart”
(from Geronimo) —

McNally is my hands-down favorite singer-songwriter that you’ve never heard of — most seriously, her ferociously rendered full-length debut record Jukebox Sparrows continually gets my vote for album of this young century’s first decade — and I’m such an unyielding and conscientious fan that I just now, this moment, found out that a new project bearing Shannon’s name went on sale all the way the hell back in March. I failed miserably to convince A that a quick trip to Waterloo Records was in order last night — times like these are why I need Sherry Ann (who would have beaten me to the car!) to live here! — but rest assured that by the time you read this, I’ll have a copy of Western Ballad in my hot little hands. And in the meantime, I am enjoying, at full volume, an unsung classic from McNally’s magnificent second record.

Tori Amos — “Little Earthquakes” (from Little Earthquakes) —

I find watching all this nonstop news coverage of people in Washington, D.C. and New York City go apeshit nuts over this afternoon’s 6.0-ish earthquake much more amusing than I ever should (if only because, as big a baby as I am about such things, I know damn well I’d be losing my shit with just as much vim and vehemence as the people I’m watching in Times Square are and have been ever since the ground first shook hours ago). My unsolicited advice on sailing through this crisis (which is, essentially, identical to my advice on sailing through any crisis, regardless of its ultimate import) is as follows: crank up the volume on some Tori, paste a smile upon your glorious face, and allow the wind to carry all your troubles downstream.

Ashford & Simpson — “Solid”
(from The Very Best of Ashford & Simpson) —

I was so sorry to hear about the tragic passing yesterday of the great Nick Ashford, who, along with his wife Valerie Simpson, co-wrote a handful of true Motown touchstones — the Supremes’ “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and Gaye & Terrell’s “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing,” to name but two — before he and Valerie decided, in what turned out to be a brilliant move, to take their own shot in front of the microphone. My beloved 1984 wouldn’t have been the same without this, their best-known smash, and the world won’t be the same without him. (Rest in peace, Nick.)

The Grateful Dead — “Touch of Grey”
(from The Very Best of The Grateful Dead) —

“. . . Cows are giving kerosene /

kid can’t read, he’s seventeen /

the words he knows are all obscene, but /

it’s all right . . . .”

Alan Jackson (with Patty Loveless) — “Monday Morning Church”
(from What I Do) —

The chorus is rather awkwardly phrased and clumsily articulated, but it doesn’t much matter: the imagery here is indelibly shattering, and Jackson manages — with able assistance, of course, from the, uh, peerless Loveless, who turns in a haunting harmony vocal that can only qualify as angelic — to create a compelling, richly terrific tableau of a man swallowed whole by untenable grief.

Michael Bolton with Eva Cassidy — “Fields of Gold”
(from Gems: The Duets Collection) —

I normally wouldn’t advocate this type of thing: let’s face it, Miss Eva’s original performance of “Gold” is so profoundly spot-on that even Sting — himself no slouch when it comes to crafting a memorable vocal — freely admits that she stole the song right out from under him, and there could be no sensible reason to try to improve upon that sort of pristine perfection. But in the oddest way, this kinda sorta works and works brilliantly: Bolton now seems (and sounds) a lifetime removed from the days when his tremendous tenor was capable of operatic, ceiling-shattering high notes, but his wearier, more weathered instrument suits him quite nicely on his new album, and especially here, where he is exceedingly careful not to try to upstage Eva — and seriously, who in blue hell could? — but rather, just like Natalie Cole duetting with her late father a generation ago, sidles in beside Cassidy to humbly offer her a quietly thrilling (if gruffly charged), oddly compelling counterpoint.

The Cure — “Pictures of You”
(from Galore [The Singles 1987-1997]) —

Over the weekend, I happened to get myself sucked into Pedro, the surprisingly moving docudrama that MTV made of one of its own pioneering reality stars — The Real World: San Francisco‘s Pedro Zamora — a couple of years ago. (Credit the quality of this film to the screenplay, courtesy of Milk‘s Academy Award-winning writer Dustin Lance Black, and to Alex Loynaz’s incendiary lead performance in the title role.) This song plays over a rather mesmerizing romantic scene in the movie, and of course I immediately thought of Sherry Ann (the biggest Cure fan I know), who will no doubt feel a little smile in her heart when she discovers that her beloved band has finally given the Buzz its song of the day.

Michelle Branch — “Crazy Ride”
(from Everything Comes and Goes) —

Not at all to say that I haven’t immensely enjoyed her extended detour into decidedly crunchy territory, or that said detour hasn’t produced some material that is quite striking in its own right — allow me to offer up this sweet tune, an unfailingly optimistic lullaby for her daughter, as exhibit A, and let me additionally entreat you to not overlook the largely stupendous work she turned in as one-half of short-lived Nashville duo The Wreckers — but I know I can’t be the only one thrilled beyond expression that the bold, brilliant Branch is finally coming home to the pop world this fall after an excruciatingly long eight-year hiatus. (For you uninitiated, Branch’s fabulous first two albums — 2001’s The Spirit Room and 2003’s Hotel Paper — might just be the two finest pop records of the decade (yeah I said it!), and if what I’ve heard so far from September’s West Coast Time is any indication, it sounds like my girl’s just itching to pick up right where she left off.)

Jennifer Hudson & Leona Lewis — “Love is Your Color”
(from Sex and the City 2 [Original Motion Picture Soundtrack]) —

A potently riveting (if beautifully restrained) face-off between two of popular music’s premier divas (and, notwithstanding the brief appearance of the terrific Nicholas Rodriguez in the film’s opening scene, easily the best thing about this misbegotten movie).

James Blunt — “I’ll Be Your Man” (from Some Kind of Trouble) —

From a dude whose entire discography heretofore about makes his listeners ready to open a vein — even his maddeningly misconstrued signature smash “You’re Beautiful” is, like, the hands-down saddest song you’ll ever hear at every wedding you attend for the rest of your natural life — comes a surprisingly sprightly comeback charmer.

OneRepublic — “Good Life” (from Waking Up) —

It rather boggles my mind that these guys aren’t considered cool by the current musical cognoscenti, most of whom likely wouldn’t know real cool if it tried to strangle them where they stand. It is my measured opinion that Ryan Tedder, this band’s fabulously fearless leader, is a mad, raging genius, and I’ll take these guys in place of those overblown gatecrashers Arcade Fire any day of the week. (Plus: isn’t there something strangely heartening about the fact that, some two years after this band’s sophomore disc was released and immediately written off for dead after it failed to instantly light the sales charts on fire, the album is still throwing off slow-burning radio hits right, left, and center? Proof positive that it ain’t where you start, it’s where ya finish.)

Shawn Colvin — “Suicide Alley” (from A Few Small Repairs) —

“. . . you know I wasn’t born /

I was spat out at a wall /

and nobody even knew my name /

the sun hatched me out /

cradle and all /

on the corner of First and Insane . . . .”

Roxette — “She’s Got Nothing On (But the Radio)”
(from Greatest Hits) —

Regular readers of this blog know that those Swedish stunners known as Roxette are my all-time favorite pop band, and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to report that — after a hiatus of nearly a decade, brought on by Marie Fredriksson’s battle with (and enormously successful recovery from) a debilitating brain tumor — they are back with a fabulous new album, Charm School (which has yet to receive an official physical release stateside, although a digital version of the record turned up on iTunes a couple of weeks ago), and with this killer new single, which is generating the first genuine heat that Roxette has felt at American radio in at least fifteen years, and which is one of two new tracks on a fabulous just-released best-of compilation which brilliantly recaps the nine consecutive top 40 hits — iconic pop smashes, nearly to a tune, to this very day — this duo scored here in the late ’80s and early ’90s. I know I’m biased, but don’t be surprised to learn that the slinky, sinfully fun “Radio” is my pick for single of the summer. (Sorry, Pitbull.)