Variables

The nights when I sit on a porch with a friend.
That’s when I’m content.
Or maybe it’s a fire escape.

Maybe my friend opens a beer for me
Or maybe I get one from the fridge for him.
Maybe him’s a her.

Or maybe there’s more than one friend.
Maybe we’re all taking turns visiting the fridge and opening the beers,
Or maybe we’re making highballs.

There are a lot of variables.

General Electric

Lately, the rattle of my fridge has been keeping me awake.
I know what you’re thinking. “The rattle of his fridge?
Does he mean the buzz? The hum?” Believe me when I tell you
That I pine for the nights when I was troubled by
The buzz or the hum.

You see, I wasn’t even going to have a fridge.
Where I live I have to
Either bring my own fridge or rent one.
You know, the kind with a microwave attached.
Who can afford to rent one?
I have a tube TV.

I was, I thought, prepared
For a year of warm beer.
For a year of doggie bags with
Early expiration dates.
Sell by twenty-four hours after the meal.
But Aaron, he lent me his fridge.

Has the rattle always been?
For two weeks, I slept soundly
Before it reared its ugly head. Bad vibrations.
If I may: Has the fridge changed or have I changed?
Did I put it in the wrong spot?
Did I stick it with the wrong magnet?

I’ve removed from its top everything:
The clock radio, the plastic containers.
And from its insides:
The old sandwich, the bottle of tequila.
The clock radio still goes off.
The cold cuts are still cold.

The fridge still rattles.
I’ve taken to shaking it.
I put it at the foot of my bed and,
When it wakes me up in the middle of the night,
I give it a kick.
Sometimes that does the job.

And here’s a longer one.

Jim James (going here by the tongue-in-cheek alias Yim Yames) is better known as the singer and mastermind of My Morning Jacket. The band is a seminal favorite who, rightfully so, got a free pass into the indie canon with 2005’s Z. Z, a stone cold classic, had fans and critics alike jumping all over themselves to make flattering comparisons to Radiohead, Wilco, and other independent giants. All ears were on them. Last summer, to the delight of some fans and the alienation of many others, My Morning Jacket dropped the controversially experimental bomb of an album that is Evil Urges. In the year since its release, the left-field Evil Urges has revealed its significant charms to those who have stuck with it, but there’s no question that it’s still regarded as a chink in the armor of an otherwise solid discography. Legions of My Morning Jacket fans have made up their mind one way or another and proclaimed, “Your move.”

For the first time since Evil Urges, we turn our ears to Jim James once again. James is no stranger to the pretty covers game, his version of Dylan’s “Going to Acapulco” was one of the highlight’s of 2007’s I’m Not There soundtrack. He has delivered to us, as his solo debut, a tribute EP to George Harrison. It’s titled, simply, Tribute To. In fact, Tribute To is a simple album all around: it consists of six Harrison covers, one acoustic guitar, and James’s otherworldly voice. And it was recorded live. As some of the strongest moments in the My Morning Jacket catalog have a similar makeup, I would title it Comfort Food.

Did I mention that voice? Jim James is hands-down one of the best singers in popular music. He sounds like no one else. Combining all the best aspects of Prince and Neil Young, his creaky falsetto can buoy the weakest of songs as it gracefully toes the line between country and soul.

Weak songs are, of course, not a problem here. Harrison is well-documented as an incredible songwriter, and James cherry-picks some of his favorites from the Beatles’ catalog and Harrison’s 1970 classic All Things Must Pass. The lack of obvious choices makes all the difference, as we’re treated to uncommon covers like “Long, Long, Long” and “Love You To.” My only major complaint is a lack of my personal favorite from All Things Must Pass. The somber “Isn’t It a Pity” begs for the Yim Yames treatment. Of course, we could dream up imaginary covers for Jim James all day. Everyone has their favorites. No matter, though, as each of the six songs on Tribute To more than satisfies a craving for simple beauty.

Tribute To is not a groundbreaking record. It’s not going to make serious waves. (Thankfully,) Natalie Portman is probably not going to promise Zach Braff that Yim Yames will change his life. It is, however, a truly pleasant way to spend twenty-six minutes and forty seconds. If it turns somebody on to My Morning Jacket or All Things Must Pass, so be it. Worse things have happened. Here’s to future solo ventures from Jim James, whatever he calls himself.

Here are a couple short reviews I wrote a little while ago when I was on the cusp of getting a job writing for a tiny local paper. They’re a little corny because the audience was people who read tiny local papers, but I figured I should get them online.

LP by Discovery

On Discovery’s LP, Rostam Batmaglij of Vampire Weekend and his buddy Wes Miles from Ra Ra Riot take everything that’s been annoying about music in the last couple years – auto-tune, the blog-friendly mash-up mindset, and Vampire Weekend – and combine it with the kind of keyboard-oriented funk that’s been missing for years. Dreadful as that sounds, it has to be heard to be believed. LP is the most infectious and charismatic album that I’ve heard all summer. And make no mistake, this is a summer album. It’s a perfectly crowd-pleasing companion to any pool party, barbecue, or sunny drive. As such, it’s probably not going to be the soundtrack to anyone’s December, so enjoy it while you can! Highlights include “Orange Shirt,” “Osaka Loop Line,” and a space-age cover of the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back.”

Wavves by Wavvves

Nathan Williams has a good thing going. Under the pseudonym Wavvves, he has released a loud collection of his stoned and noisy home recordings. This album is decidedly lo-fi. Williams’s playing is not, to say the least, virtuosic, and all levels here are in the red. This is no detriment to the album – in fact, the D.I.Y. nature of it all adds to the album’s ramshackle charms. The strength of the songs varies – for every home run, there are a few pop flies – but when they’re good, they’re great. “So Bored,” with its distorted riff and catchy hook is the clear standout. If you let it, this sunny slice of apathetic fuzz just might be the song that plays in your head when you think back to the summer of 2009. Despite the clunkers along the way, Wavves is a solid and cohesive debut, firmly establishing Mr. Williams as a talent worthy of further attention.

So this is what it has come to. People are taking Rick Ross seriously. I’m taking Rick Ross seriously. The Internet is a strange wilderness. If you had told me five or six years ago that I’d be re-evaluating a good chunk of all the popular Southern hip-hop that my very tall and very suburban friend Tank endorsed at the time, I probably would have turned up the Kanye in my headphones to drown you out. I used to burn Tank stuff like Madvillain and Ghostface and he used to burn me stuff like Young Jeezy mixtapes and Mannie Fresh’s solo album (which is kind of worth checking out). We agreed on Cam’ron, but I think that might have been it. We both liked Jay-Z as well but that doesn’t count. I thought all the “Southern Smoke” music he listened to was really dumb and pretty fun, and I guess my position on that type of hip-hop hasn’t really changed. Except now I understand the merits, ins, and outs of it more than ever before. I’m taking it kind of seriously! Maybe that’s easier for me now that it has settled back down as a niche genre and not ruling the charts… am I that shallow? It’s possible. Maybe I shouldn’t have written Tank’s taste off. He was listening to Lil Wayne and UGK like way before a lot of “real” hip-hop heads jumped on those bandwagons, myself included. There was probably nothing more ridiculous about seventeen year old Tank endorsing Slim Thug than there was about seventeen year old me endorsing Talib Kweli. But I’m also pretty sure he took Nelly seriously. Tank was an enigma.

But he was all I had, more or less. The other kid I used to talk to about hip-hop in high school listens to Relient K now.

Still, Rick Ross?! I’m suspicious when a guy like Rick Ross suddenly gets critical clout. Sometimes it seems like the tastemakers have just spun a giant wheel of fortune of shitty rappers (or, uh, ex-Degrassi cast members) and decided to endorse whichever one the arrow points to. Remember The Game? I’m even kind of wary of Gucci Mane based on this wheel of fortune theory. Anyway, when so many people were mentioning Sir Lucious Left Foot and Teflon Don in the same breath, I had to listen for myself. And you know what? Teflon Don is certainly pretty good. Rated on the curve of ex-corrections officers who rap about being mafia dons and get away with it, it’s a classic. The beats sound like Jerry Bruckheimer productions look. Rozay’s flow is always good and sometimes great. His voice is approaching a DOOM level of huskiness. His lyrics are still pretty retarded, rhyming words with themselves Fred Durst style, but it kind of works. It’s not Illmatic, but it’s something. If you’re driving around the suburbs this summer, you could find worse-sounding ways to piss off your neighbors.

This track in particular is pretty great. I don’t know who produced it, but the sampling is very Premier-y. It’s from the Bawse’s Albert Anastasia EP and there’s a verse from motherfuckin’ Kool G Rap. That’s what I mean when I say the Internet is a strange wilderness. Rick Ross is working with Kool Giancana Rap. Rick Ross is working with Erykah Badu. You know in real life when somebody who is cool just decides this one guy is cool and then the rest of the pack follows their lead and this new guy is suddenly hanging out with like the coolest cats in town, apropos of nothing? Seems like that happened to Rick Ross. But maybe not… there is a Drake spot on Teflon Don, after all. Rick Ross is an enigma. But this track is pretty great and both rappers kill it and at the end of the day isn’t that all that matters? Check it out.

Tuna steaks is high.

But don’t take that pun’s word for it. The long-awaited second entry in the killer food blog is here.

All Summer my dad’s been talking big talk about cooking up some tuna steaks. Maybe while we were working on replacing the deck, between saying something like “Hold onto this screw” or “Pass me that drill” or “Put some shoes on,” he would say something like, “Son, before the end of the summer, I want to grill some tuna steaks.” Maybe while we were working on painting the house, between saying something like “Hold the ladder” or “Are you holding the ladder?” or “Seriously, I think the ladder is moving” he would say something like, “Son, it’s really on my summer bucket list to make some tuna steaks.” But the days melted off the calendar and my return to Boston quickly approached. Still no tuna steaks. So I went to the supermarket and got four damn tuna steaks! And some other stuff: Capers and lemon and Italian peppers. And I went to town on the grill. But, there’s a catch (get it?): Fish is fickle! I salted, I peppered. I lubed up the grate. I quartered the peppers lengthwise. I consulted the Internet, which told me to do 4 minutes on each side on high. Unfortunately, everything remained raw. Considering the residence of a couple seafood skeptics under my roof and the fact that Market Basket a.k.a. DeMoula’s probably isn’t exactly shelling out “sushi quality” sea chicken I ended up fumbling around with tongs and a spatula in the heat of the afternoon sun for like 15 pressure-filled minutes, flipping the fish around way too much trying to find the hot spots on our miserable gas grill and eyeballing everything and taking great pains not to overcook or rip the steaks at the seams or knock Italian pepper strips through the grate onto the coals. It wasn’t pretty. Not a star performance. A potential disaster. But the tuna gods must have been on my side. Somehow, someway, I ended up with four steaks that were the perfect pink and happy medium between mom-disgusting sushi and chef-disappointing sawdust. I whipped up a vinaigrette from an Epicurious recipe with some lemon juice, olive oil, parsley, mustard, and capers and presented everything in the unnecessarily pretentious manner seen above. It was a big hit. Even mama liked!

I’ve been happily unemployed since my co-op ran out on July 1. I’ve taken the opportunity to take advantage of a stocked pantry and kitchen and flex my cooking muscles for my folks. Left-over-stuffed-pepper-stuffing barley and tomato soup, sexy salads with homemade dressing, mountainous sandwiches, omelety omelets. Unfortunately, today is July 22 and I only just realized that I could have been three weeks deep into a killer food blog!

Without further ado, I present to you the first and probably last entry in my killer food blog:

When my dad hits the inexplicably sawdust-lined aisles of our local grocery store, DeMoula’s a.k.a. Market Basket, he tends to stock up. This is understandable, because he really only gets one chance a week to get in a good supermarket sesh. However, this stock-up technique, when combined with the pack-rat’s doggie-bag-wielding inability to throw anything away and the bargain-hunter’s dented-can-wielding inability to turn down a good buy, tends to yield a seriously crowded pantry, fridge, and freezer. Should the need arise to present four cans of B&M baked beans or three boxes of Rice Krispies, I’d have no trouble. But! Our produce, bought in bulk like everything else, often gets lost in the shuffle as it sits in the crisper drawer waiting hopefully for salad night. And produce does not exactly keep like a Rice Krispy. Our twelve heads of Romaine are wilting. Our 50-clove head of garlic is sprouting. The white onions from our 100-lb. sack are doing the same. It’s too late for them. There aren’t enough salads in this world to prevent their wilted, sprouty demise.

Two valiant zucchinis had a different fate. I would not let them go bad, victims of we cruel veggie-stockpiling salad-dodgers. Defiant as they were, they didn’t have much time. These zucchinis had to be cooked. I…

Boiled them for 10ish minutes

Cut them into half moons

Chopped up some salvaged sprouty garlic and onion

Tossed all of the above and some olive oil, oregano, and basil in a frying pan on lowish medium for awhile

Grated Parmesan

Salted

Peppered

Enjoyed heartily