Brandon's Buzz

A chastised me yesterday for not leaving this post on the front page a bit longer (just the way the timing shook out, darling!), and because I am profoundly proud of how the final product turned out (and because it took about four tedious hours of cutting, pasting, and tinkering to splice it all together), I’m throwing this back up on top for the day. Three hundred sixty-seven days ago now, inspired by a flash of genius and grace at a traffic light one summer evening, I started a new “song of the day” feature on this website entitled Honey from the Hive. I had multiple goals when I decided to open up this Pandora’s box: I was looking for a way to goose reader traffic and make Brandon’s Buzz much more of a daily destination than an occasional read, as well as a way to shoehorn even more music-related fare into a blog whose primary purpose for existing was already to wax poetic on my eternal love of song. Most importantly, I had long been searching for a way to impel myself to write: write anything, write something, for this site every day. (Sadly, there are still occasional gaps between updates — though not nearly as many as there used to be — but otherwise, I couldn’t be more thrilled with how year one of this little side project has taken shape.) Looking at the list of 242 songs below is quite a trip: a wide cross-section of clashing styles are represented here — perfectly apropos, this, given my maddeningly broad tastes — and in just a minute or two, you can relive a brilliant year in the life of a lovably insane music fan, and understand with renewed clarity how every piece of my life — every friend I make, every breath I take (ha!), every movie I see, every conversation I start — is irrevocably colored by my passion and respect for the masterful melodies that score each of our days.

JULY 11: Dierks Bentley (featuring Del McCoury & The Punch Brothers) —
“Pride (In the Name of Love)” (from Up on the Ridge) —

JULY 12: Melissa Etheridge — “Fearless Love”
(from Fearless Love) —

JULY 13: Tara MacLean — “If I Fall” (from Passenger) —

JULY 14: John Mellencamp — “Case 795 (The Family)”
(from Human Wheels) —

JULY 15: Dido — “Mary’s in India” (from Life for Rent) —

JULY 16: Laura Branigan — “Spanish Eddie”
(from The Best of Branigan) —

JULY 17: Sara Bareilles — “King of Anything”
(from Kaleidoscope Heart) —

JULY 18: George Jones — “The King is Gone (So Are You)”
(from 16 Biggest Hits) —

JULY 19: Norah Jones — “Jesus, Etc. (Sad, Sad Songs)”
(from The Fall [Deluxe Edition]) —

JULY 20: Bernard Butler — “Not Alone” (from People Move On) —

keep reading »

Shawn Colvin — “One Small Year” (from Whole New You) —

I already said everything worth saying about Honey from the Hive‘s first birthday in yesterday’s post, so I won’t bore you here with a warmed-over rehash. (A small bit of trivia that I intended but failed to divulge yesterday, in case you’re curious: according to this site’s statistics, the three most popular song posts from this first year were, in descending order: my beloved Tori Amos’ “Jackie’s Strength” from July 27; Sugarland’s “Stuck Like Glue” from July 28, and Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” from September 2.) Instead, I’ll just say, once more, from the bottom of my heart: thanks. A million.

Kendall Payne — “Honest” (from Jordan’s Sister) —

She emboldened and empowered an entire generation of women, of Americans, of people, with her unapologetic candor, her unyielding honesty, and her disarmingly intimate example, and she saved a number of lives that must surely by now measure in the millions, simply by laying herself bare and recognizing that her status as the wife of the most powerful man on Earth didn’t exempt her from that awful malady called being human. Her enormous legacy is living proof that sometimes the most noble and courageous action we can take is to open our mouths and let any and all within earshot know how the world looks from our own particular plot of ground. (May the angels bless you and bless you forever, Miss Betty Ford, wherever you may now be.)

Paul Simon — “Pigs, Sheep, and Wolves” (from You’re the One) —

I freely admit that I have no bidness whatsoever chiming in on this luridly crazy Casey Anthony mess that is temporarily dominating the national conversation, because I haven’t followed this trial’s twists and turns with even a passing interest, and essentially all I know about the case I learned from paying half-hearted attention to the daily news blurbs on Inside Edition (a program that, no matter how much I love it, hardly has the probing journalistic sensibilities of a Frontline or even an Access Hollywood). Still, I can’t help myself: I happened to find myself listening to Sean Hannity’s radio program (don’t ask!) yesterday afternoon after the verdicts came down — Anthony was found guilty of lying to the police, basically, but not guilty of murder, manslaughter, or child abuse with regard to the still-unexplained death of her toddler daughter — and because I tend to find Hannity an insufferably pompous gasbag, I tend to avoid his pontifications whenever possible, but I was so riveted by the fact that he was making a great deal of sense in his analysis of this trial (and I was so stunned by the fact that I was actively agreeing with everything he said about same) that I couldn’t summon the strength to change channels. It’s not for me to say what role, if any, Anthony played in the tragic death of her daughter — and, by all external appearances, one must believe it was a significant one — but the prosecution failed wholly to prove their case, and so overplayed their weak hand that this jury frankly had no other choice but to do what they did. It doesn’t really matter what Anthony may or may not have Googled for research purposes (and incidentally, how many items in your personal computer’s history would you be hard-pressed to summon a reasonable explanation for if caught red-handed?), or how she may or may not have acted in the immediate wake of her daughter’s disappearance (and where, exactly, is The Official Handbook for How to Grieve Without Looking Guilty As All Hell in the Dewey Decimal System?), because the very heart of the case, as I understand it, was hollow: nobody — not one of the forensic experts working on this case — has been able to determine with any degree of certitude how this young girl even died, which means no one can say with any definitive proof that she was murdered. The people prosecuting this case seriously expected this jury to send this indisputably troubled woman to death row when they couldn’t even establish that a murder took place here at all? Sorry, but, for whatever flaws it may possess, the American system of jurisprudence — which was constructed around the idea that claims must be proven with silly things like facts, and evidence, and the abject elimination of even the slimmest shred of reasonable doubt — doesn’t work that way, and regardless of how oddly this woman may have behaved or how guilty she may have seemed for the past three years, this jury yesterday, having been handed a pile of tawdry and exceptionally muddled nonsense, made the least outrageous choice possible, and for that, they should be not chastised but commended.

Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers — “4th of July”
(from Glassjaw Boxer) —

It’s a fireworks-less holiday here in the Cen-Tex, but wherever (and however) you’re celebrating your Independence Day, the Buzz hopes it’s a happy one, y’all.

INXS (featuring Pat Monahan) — “Beautiful Girl”
(from Original Sin) —

Because the lyrics he sings tend to be disastrously dopey as often as they are brilliantly probing, Monahan — the fearless leader of those Grammy-winning pop behemoths Train — doesn’t always get the credit he so richly and eternally deserves as a truly gifted performer. (I’d wager the fact that Pat is now more famous and celebrated for singing fluffy nonsense like “Hey, Soul Sister” than for his crazy-great classics “Drops of Jupiter” and “Meet Virginia” — to say nothing of little-known masterworks of his like “Pirate on the Run” and “Always Midnight” — is not going to help that particular cause at all.) But he is flat-out fabulous here, stepping into Michael Hutchence’s ginormous shoes — a titanic task you’d scarcely wish on anybody! — and creating something entirely fresh, and wholly enjoyable: adapting his voice just so, all the better to effectively mimic that clipped hush that marked most of Hutchence’s most memorable work, and yet knowing just when to unleash the acrobatic power which marks all of his own, Monahan kills this classic, resuscitates it, and then slaughters it all the hell over again. A ravishing case study in crafting a landmark cover.

Javier Colon — “Stitch By Stitch” (from Stitch By Stitch) —

Forgive me for tooting my own horn for a moment, but exactly two months ago (to the day!), after only having watched the premiere episode and not yet having a full sense of the scope and breadth of the competition, I tagged Mr. Colon, in this very space, the instant front-runner to win NBC’s surprise smash singing competition The Voice immediately upon seeing his wrenchingly glorious take on Cyndi Lauper’s classic “Time After Time.” And so it came to pass last night: going against the grain of thought that had his worthy rival Dia Frampton taking the prize, America agreed with me that Javier was the clear champion and voted for him as such. The show’s primary conceit — it’s in the frickin’ title, after all! — was that the contestants’ voices be paramount and take precedence over cheap rafter-raising theatrics and clever stunting, and in the end, it all came down to this gracefully gifted young man’s immense, electric talent. (Course, we must now pray that, as Colon navigates the road that lay before him, he is allowed the creative space to breathe and to make a record that truly puts that talent on full, divine display.)

Katie Melua — “If the Lights Go Out” (from Pictures) —

Thinking today of A and his extended family — which, sadly, now contains one less member than it did a day ago — and pondering the crazy fragility of life, the impenetrable strength of memory, and the comforting wisdom of music. Tomorrow is promised to none of us, so the best things we possess in tomorrow’s stead are love (love of our partners, of our children, of our friends, of our enemies, of old acquaintance not forgot), and song (always song, always this nutty idea of random words stitched together in some rhyme scheme or another to effect the magnificent splendor of melody). (I love you, A.)

Martina McBride — “Lies” (from Shine) —

As painfully underwhelming as most of her singles have been in the past half-decade or so, McBride — as she proves with this surprisingly powerful stunner — still has some of the strongest album cuts going. (One is almost brought to suspect that there exists some kooky conspiracy somewhere in the bowels of her bidness to keep Martina’s best material off of country radio, yeah?)

Cutting Crew — “(I Just) Died in Your Arms”
(from The Best of Cutting Crew) —

A and I had a total blast last night jamming out with a host of other mindless-pop-loving Austinites at the Alamo Drafthouse’s Totally ’80s New Wave sing-along, and it actually turned out to be quite the educational experience for both of us, because until last night, I had utterly no idea how serious (and, in actual fact, quite profound) a song Tears for Fears’ “Head Over Heels” is — my mind is blown time and again at these events when I’m forced, sometimes for the first time ever, to actually pay complete attention to the lyrics of songs I’ve loved my whole life! — and A gained a bit more sociological (and physiological) insight than he had held previously after I was forced to explain to him, verse by verse, what actually is going on between the lines of The Vapors’ “Turning Japanese.” (It was also quite a pleasant surprise to realize just how well a-ha’s then-revolutionary video for “Take On Me” continues to hold up all these years later.) There were some objectionable omissions from the playlist last night — no “99 Luftballons,” sadly, and no Kajagoogoo, no Culture Club, shockingly little Duran Duran, and they could have swapped out Billy Idol for a wee taste of Wham! and not offended me at all — but there was more than enough of Madness, Morrissey, Devo, Violent Femmes, and Sherry Ann’s beloved Cure to satisfy. Oh, and then there was Cutting Crew: this song — an all-time classic from that magical, mystical summer of 1987 — wasn’t technically part of the New Wave movement, any more than was “Walking On Sunshine,” but that didn’t stop my ass from getting happy and singing along nonetheless. Twenty-four summers have passed between the moment I sit here and type this and the moment my clueless eleven-year-old ears first heard this magnificently unsettling masterpiece — a compelling chronicle of how a young man’s erotic fantasy comes alive as an all-consuming minefield of desperation and emotional destruction — and it remains, bar none, the single sexiest song I’ve ever heard.

Cee-Lo Green — “Bright Lights, Bigger City” (from The Lady Killer) —

One of the great surprises of the spring television season has been NBC’s smash competition series The Voice, which has been chock full of really interesting, curious, fascinatingly diverse talent (what a concept, this picking great singers to compete in a singing contest!), and one of the great joys of following The Voice has been the opportunity to watch that delightfully deranged dingbat Cee-Lo Green — easily the most flamboyant of this series’ quartet of judges — let his gloriously fabulous freak flag fly. Dementedly donning the visage of a modern-day Lawrence Welk — complete with thousands of bubbles, no less! — and confusing the living hell out of his hilarious fellow mentor Blake Shelton (who, on this program, often eyes Cee-Lo as though he’s halfway ready to run screaming into the night), Green performed this saucy little ditty, the third single from his latest album, on last night’s penultimate results show (Voice‘s two-part finale begins next Tuesday night), and though it doesn’t at all have that same sort of sticky, instantly (and insanely) catchy hook as his Grammy-nominated monster “Forget You,” it nonetheless feels like a perfectly poppy summertime jam.

The Sundays — “Summertime” (from Static and Silence) —

Happy (official) first day of summer, y’all. (We here at the Buzz hope that, wherever you are, you’re beating the heat in style and with the one you love.)