“The making of a good compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many do’s and don’ts. First of all, you’re using someone else’s poetry to express how you feel. This is a delicate thing.” (High Fidelity)
Over the past few weeks, one of my work projects has me thinking about playlists a lot: about how they can capture a mood perfectly, about how they can change your mood more effectively than almost anything else, and how they indeed are a very subtle art.
As the first of what might become a regular feature of this blog, I’m going to share a playlist. This one seeks to capture the feeling of the song title that wraps it up: one Sunday morning.
Here’s the screen shot of the songs and artists; below is a link that will take you to the music itself (technology willing). Enjoy.
There’s a well-worn rite of passage amongst artists on the ascent. At some point, typically on their second or third album, songwriting turns away from real stories and into the angst of the newly rich and the suddenly famous. Lyrics of love lost give way to laments about Prada shoes fitting too tightly.
Far more interesting are the lyrics of the once-famous: artists who have both the self-awareness to recognize that their fame isn’t what it was, and the guts to write about it.
While The Red House Painters never quite hit it huge, they do hold a place on a shelf of my college memories, somewhere in between the Jayhawks and Material Issue. Now, more years later than I care to calculate, the lead singer of that band has a solo career and a new song that wistfully looks out at his fans.
The next time I go to a gig, just to be sure, I’m going to be sure to wear something other than tennis shoes.
Sunshine in Chicago, makes me feel pretty sad My band played here a lot in the 90s when we had Lots of female fans, and they all looked cute, Now I just sign posters for guys in tennis shoes.