Asher's perfectly happy hanging out on his belly for extended periods of time, now. It's the little things that fill me with pride these days. You take what you can get, right?



In other Asher news, did I mention that he started solid foods recently - if you can call rice cereal that? Of course, most of it ends up on his face and his clothing, but he seems to enjoy what goes in the mouth.

Top Albums In The Past 20 Years

I was talking to my friend Dave about the state of music the other night. Actually, it was more like I was listening to him offer up his variation on the age-old whine, "there's no good new music any more."

My response to this is always, "bullshit."

It has to do with us, not the music.

First, as we get older, new, popular music (as opposed to jazz or classical) as a whole simply doesn't mean as much to us. That's a fact. Probably has something to do with us not having much opportunity to scrawl lyrics in the margins of spiral notebooks, anymore.

Second, as our sense of music history deepens, we realize that innovation is really derivation, which somehow lessens an album's impact. Interpol's debut was the best Joy Division album to come out since 1979. M. Doughty's sneer/whine combo is all Neil Young's fault, and of course, Yo La Tengo's whole oeurve is really just a bunch of outtakes from the Velvet Underground's "White Light/White Heat," right?

So what? I loved Joy Division, was always bummed that they were a two-album band, and I actually think that the Interpol record is better in some ways than Unknown Pleasures. Neil Young got his schtick from Gram Parsons, Bob Dylan and Phil Ochs who got theirs from Leadbelly, Hank Sr. and Woody. And the Velvet Undergound kinda sucked when you get right down to it - at least, many bands figured out how to do their thing better than they could.

In response to Dave, I decided to put together a list of what I believe to be the top albums of the past 20 years - stretching way back to 1985.

Three criteria dictated an album's place on the list - artistic merit, fun quotient, and my own personal relationship with the work.

When I finished, and tallied it all up, the albums broke down as follows:

- 24 were released between 1985-89 (Husker Du, Replacements, Pixies, etc.)
- 20 were released between 1990-95 (Uncle Tupelo, Massive Attack, Nirvana, etc.)
- 26 were released between 1996-00 (Wilco, Radiohead, PJ Harvey, etc.)
- 8 were released between 2001-05 (Beck, Death Cab for Cutie, Outkast, etc.)

The best year for music (for me) was 1987, with 10 releases making the list. 1989 and 1997 tied for second with 7 each, and 1993 took third place with 6 releases.


Now, here's the list, arranged in alpha order, within tiers. Let me know what you think I missed...


Top 20:
The Cure - Disintegration (1989)
Husker Du - New Day Rising (1985)
Jane's Addiction - Nothing's Shocking (1988)
Jayhawks - Hollywood Town Hall (1992)
Massive Attack - Blue Lines (1991)
Mercury Rev - Deserter's Songs (1998)
Morphine - Cure for Pain (1993)
Nirvana - In Utero (1993)
Outkast - Speakerboxx/Love Below (2003)
Pixies - Doolittle (1989)
Prince - Sign O' The Times (1987)
Public Enemy - It Takes a Nation of Millions... (1988)
Radiohead - OK Computer (1997)
REM - Document (1987)
Replacements - Pleased to Meet Me (1987)
The Smiths - Queen is Dead (1986)
Sonic Youth - Daydream Nation (1987)
Soul Coughing - Ruby Vroom (1994)
Uncle Tupelo - No Depression (1990)
Wilco - Summerteeth (1999)


2nd 20:
Beastie Boys - Check Your Head (1992)
Belle & Sebastian - If You're Feeling Sinister (1996)
Jeff Buckley - Grace (1994)
The Cure - Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me  (1987)
Flaming Lips - Soft Bulletin (1999)
Guns & Roses - Appetite for Destruction (1987)
Jayhawks - Sound of Lies (1997)
Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (1999)
My Bloody Valentine - Loveless (1991)
Liz Phair - Exile In Guyville (1993)
PJ Harvey - Stories from the City, Stories From The Sea (2000)
Portishead - Dummy (1994)
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Blood Sugar... (1991)
Spiritualized - Ladies and Gentlemen... (1997)
Elliott Smith - Either/Or (1997)
Stone Roses - The Stone Roses (1989)
Tortoise - Millions Now Living... (1996)
Lucinda Williams - Car Wheels on a Gravel Road (1998)
Wilco - Being There (1996)
Yo La Tengo - And Then Nothing... (2000)


Honorable Mentions:
Air - Moon Safari (1998)
American Music Club - Mercury (1993)
Keren Ann - Nolita (2005)
Beastie Boys - Paul's Boutique (1989)
Beck - Sea Change (2002)
Ben Folds Five - Forever and Ever Amen (1997)
Ben Folds Five - Unauthorized Biography of… (1999)
De La Soul - 3 Feet High and Rising (1989)
Dr. Octagon - Dr. Octagonecologist (1996)
Built To Spill - Perfect From Now On (1997)
Death Cab for Cutie - Photo Album (2002)
Eminem - The Eminem Show (2002)
Interpol - Turn on the Bright Lights (2002)
Lambchop - Nixon (2000)
Jon Langford - Skull Orchard (1998)
Nas - Illmatic (1994)
Norah Jones - Come Away With Me (2002)
Ministry - Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste (1989)
Modest Mouse - Moon and Antarctica (2000)
Nine Inch Nails - Pretty Hate Machine (1989)
NWA - Straight Outa Compton (1988)
Radiohead - Kid A (2000)
Replacements - Tim (1985)
Run DMC - Raising Hell (1987)
The Shins - Oh Inverted World (2001)
Smashing Pumpkins - Siamese Dream (1993)
The Smiths - Strangeways Here We Come (1987)
Spacemen 3 - Perfect Prescription (1987)
Paul Simon  - Graceland (1986)
Rage Against the Machine - Rage Against... (1992)
Stereolab - Emperor Tomato Ketchup  (1996)
Tribe Called Quest - Low End Theory (1991)
Tricky - Maxinquaye (1995)
U2 - The Joshua Tree (1987)
Uncle Tupelo - Anodyne (1994)
Wu Tang Clan - Enter the Wu Tang (1993)
Yo La Tengo - I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One  (1997)

This weekend was relatively action-packed, which you'd think would be a good thing. Alas, it seems that less is more when you're four (months old).

One of Sarah's college friends grew up to be a real estate lawyer. She married another real estate lawyer who is also an entrepreneur of sorts. The net result of that union (as it pertains to me, dear readers) was that Sarah, Asher and I had a great beach house to visit on Saturday, in a posh/private section of Lido Beach. I'm talking five houses away from a two-mile strip of private ocean and sand, a secluded outdoor shower, lots of grilled meat and zero city noise to distract us from the sounds of the surf, the wind and the birds. Very tranquil.

Of course, Asher decided he wasn't going to nap. At all. And he didn't like the sun. At all. And he was uncomfortable in the shade. Completely. So after five hours of trying, with a few glimmers of fun here and there (Sarah went swimming in the ocean. I found common ground with the husband -- whiffle ball and a discussion about Dale Murphy's rookie card), we chalked it up in the loss column and headed back to Park Slope.

That night, the New Pornographers and the Sadies were playing in Prospect Park's bandshell, a fifteen minute walk from our apartment. We put Asher to bed in his stroller, and once he was asleep, wheeled him out to the Baby Zone near the venue. The Baby Zone is located directly in front of the stage, about a hundred yards back from a flimsy wooden fence that separates the real concertgoers from the young parents who, like us, are determined to recoup some semblance of a life but can't go the babysitter route for whatever reason. In the Baby Zone, we can still hear the show, though the sound is a little flat. Beer and pot are replaced by wine and cheese - not necessarily a terrible trade-off, but a telling one, nonetheless. At any rate, we shared our blankets and wine and cheese (and cookies and pasta salad and grapes) with some other citizens of the Baby Zone who happen to be old college acquaintances of mine. A few other friends stopped by. And Asher slept on.

After the show, we made our way home, transferred Asher to his crib, high-fived, and collapsed into bed. Success!

Until, 4am. Asher woke up moaning, like he'd just slept off his drunk from the show, and needed some aspirin and water to help him find his way back to a restful sleep. Instead, he got breast milk and a pacifier, which eventually did the trick. It also knocked him completely off schedule; he slept until 9am, and then didn't nap once the rest of the day.

Anyone who has kids knows that it's pretty much the most annoying thing in the world when they don't nap. They're pissed off, manic, prone to inconsolable squirming and screaming, and they spit up with reckless abandon. Unfortunately, we were having guests over for brunch. Lots of them. Including preperation, the festivities lasted from 9am-4pm, and we had to deal with a wigged-out, overtired baby the entire time. Worst. Day. Ever.

By the time we got him to sleep Sunday evening, we were intellectually and physically worthless, reduced to feasting on tuna fish and cherries in front of a stupid TBS movie until one of us fell asleep on the pile of laundry that we had time to clean but not to fold.

From now on, we're limiting ourselves to one outing per weekend. Asher can't handle any more, which means we can't handle any more.

You know you're a New Yorker when you walk right through a 17 ton popsicle disaster, and it doesn't even register.

The other day, I was walking through Union Square, which is right next to my office. I barely noticed some sort of big to-do. But there's always some sort of big to-do in Union Square, so I thought nothing of it. I also barely noticed that there was a lot of purple water on the ground. Again, the Square is usually a mess - either from some event, or a bunch of high school kids dumping slurpees on the ground. So, I didn't think twice.

Later that evening, I found that the to-do and the mess was from a 17 ton popsicle that Snapple produced as a publicity stunt. According to the story in several international news outlets, it melted in the heat (go figure), and flooded the area with strawberry-flavored fluid.

Whatever.

Sesame St re-zoned

If one more person sends me that goddamn moveon.org email talking about how funding is going to be cut for NPR and PBS, I'm crackin' skulls.

Nice, that this is the liberal cause du jour. Who gives a shit about Big Bird and Terri Gross when we're killing innocent men, women and childern in Iraq, torturing them in our illegal prisons, starving the public education system, continuing to deny health care to 43 million Americans, continuing to allow corporations to cause brain damage in children with the mercury they're dumping in our oceans and freshwater supply, and kissing our privacy rights goodbye with the Patriot act?

Priorities, people. Priorities.

re: the new John Hiatt record - Why oh why did he have to put a cheesy sax break two minutes into the first track? Now, I feel like I'm listening to Huey Lewis.

re: Other Stuff - Sarah started work again this week! ABC agreed to let her come in on Mondays and Tuesdays, only. On those days, I go to work at 6:30am. Sarah takes Asher to her mom's house in Queens, and I pick him up at 5pm. So far so good - Monday and Tuesday went pretty smoothly. I bailed out of work in the middle of various fire drills, took the subway out to get Asher and the car, drove him home, gave him his bath, and put him to bed. The best part was seeing his face light up as soon as he saw me walk in the door to retrieve him.

On a semi-related note, the first story that they gave Sarah to work on was about babies dying in hot cars. Great.

"The sun's not yellow - it's chicken."

It's a line from Bob Dylan's "Tombstone Blues" that stuck with me as I was listening to Highway 61 Revisited on the way to work this morning.

The line was spoken by a military leader, a "Commander-in-Chief" after berating one of his generals for weakness when the general expressed disgust at having to carry out an order to torture a captive. "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief/Is there a hole for me to get sick in?" he asks.

The Commander-in-Chief's reply is mixed in with the narrator's voice: "Death to all those who would whimper and cry/And dropping a bar bell, he points to the sky/Saying, the sun's not yellow, it's chicken."

It's more than a fantastic play on words. This whole section of the song has so many contemporary parallels, not the least of which is that last line, where, after the leader dismisses ethical concerns, and motions with a pointless show of strength (the bar bell), he issues the ultimate, useless gesture, calling the sun chicken.

The swagger and hubris involved in that challenge are both revealing and utterly unbelievable.

This is the power of Bob Dylan, and of this record in particular. His words cut deeper and more true than any straightforward newspaper editorial, protest or political accusation.

Pointless, Snarky Google Tricks

Go to google. Search for "failure."

How can anyone take this guy seriously?

On a conservative radio show last Friday, Dick Cheney called Senator Durbin's remarks (you know, the ones where he DIDN'T call our soldiers Nazis?), "one of the more egregious things I'd ever heard uttered on the floor of the United States Senate."

This, from the guy who told Senator Leahy to go fuck himself on the Senate floor last year.

I was ranting to my father about the whole dust-up with Senator Durbin (D-IL) supposedly comparing our troops to Nazis (he didn't), and he had an interesting response - the Democrats were on the wrong side of this torture thing, and he didn't agree with them.

My dad is a former history teacher with ABD (all but dissertation) academic status under his belt, so he's not ignorant when it comes to placing Policy in historical context. Now, he lives in Springfield, IL and works as a financial advisor. He's also a VERY conservative Democrat - especially fiscal issues. Actually, he'd say that he's nether Dem or Republican, but I think he does lean Democrat.

His first reaction was disbelief, when I mentioned any sort of torture or murder going on in U.S.-run prisons outside the country. "I don't know where your statistics and stories are coming from," he said, when I reeled off things like 37 murders, 108 dead under "questionable circumstances, 90% of those imprisoned were innocent" and various instances of actions that could be at the very least construed as torture-lite.

When I pointed out that they came from official Department of Defense reports, from official FBI reports, and from official Red Cross International reports, and that they had been reported in the NY Times, the Washington Post, the major broadcast networks, and even the conservative Wall Street Journal, he then switched to the 9/11 argument. "I think most people in this country don't care about that, because of what 'they' did to us on 9/11."

When I pointed out again that according to offocial DoD reports, as many as 90% of those imprisoned were innocent, he again cited 9/11, and offered up a nice version of the kill-em-all-and-let-god-sort-em-out argument.

When I also pointed out that the majority of this torture-lite and these murders were taking place in prisons in Iraq, which had nothing whatsoever to do with 9/11 (which he KNOWS), he ended the discussion.

I've found that my father is a fantastic barometer of how the middle of the country - the lion's share of our population - thinks. He's not by any means a fan of the Bush administration. In fact, he has called them the worst White House in his memory. But when it comes to this War on Terror, he swallows the rhetoric - hook, line and sinker.

Why is that? What am I missing? What are the Democrats missing? Seriously. Someone chime in here, because I really don't get why the majority of the country feels this way. It doesn't seem logical to me.

Went to bed at 9pm last night. Slept until 3:30am, when Asher initiated what is now his new thing - staccato, screechy bursts of very vocal upset until someone comes in and shoves a milk-bearing nipple (boob or a bottle) in his mouth. This, after three weeks of sleeping straight through the night, 6:30pm to 6:30am. What the hell?

During these benders, Asher is more than inconsolable; when I try to do all the things that usually calm down, his screeches get louder and more insistent.

Maybe, I should take my cues from the kid, and try this method at work. I'm not talking the adult version. I'm talking pure, unvarnished bellowing until I get what I want. Whaddya think?

Dear internet community fuckwads who are assailing my credibility/experience,

I don't think you want to get into a pissing contest with me. I've been in the digital music space since before you even listened to your first CD on a computer.

First digital music consumer experience: downloading WAVs from FTP sites in 1991

First professional digital music experience: producing webcasts of top-tier bands for jamtv/rollingstone.com in 1996

First experience with producing digital music applications: Internal beta at listen.com in late 2000.

First experience producing a public digital music application: Rhapsody in December, 2001.

Companies worked with on strategic and tactical initiatives: EMI, Sony BMG, Universal, Warner, Apple, Microsoft, Yahoo, Best Buy, Meijer, Circuit City, Clear Channel, etc... etc...

There are about four people in the country who can beat that, and you're not one of them. Sit down.

Best,
isaac

Well, I officially turned down the offer from the high risk digital music venture I mentioned in my last post.

The truth is, my decision was not based entirely on the fact that I've become less risk-averse since escaping listen.com, buying a home and having a child. Although, that definitely had something to do with it. It was hair-raising enough as a single guy living through unrealistic revenue expectations that resulted in quarterly layoffs, five bosses in three years, and pay cuts instead of raises at the end of each review period.

What sealed it for me with this particular high risk digital music venture was that it (a) was not particularly well-funded, and (b) there were serious concerns about their ability to produce a compelling product.

In this space, I'm convinced that you need huge cash reserves to compete. This company does not share my convictions, and only has enough money to last about six months after launch.

On the product side, these folks are using MusicNet as their backend, which is always a red flag. Nice, smart folks at MusicNet, but for whatever reason, every product they've worked on has been late to launch and extremely buggy. Part of the reason has to be that half of their team is in Seattle, and half is in New York City. Digital music applications are pretty complicated to get right, and I firmly believe everyone needs to be in the same place to make it happen. On that note, it didn't help that this particular high risk digital music venture in question had half of its team in Tel Aviv and half in Manhattan.

And then, there's my current position. NPD is not cool. NPD is not chock-full of intelligent, driven and interesting people. Coming from three years in the Bay area working in the hottest sector of the hottest industry, that's occasionally hard to swallow. That said, NPD has pretty consistently given me good opportunities to do things that I was unable to do in previous jobs. I have definitely grown here. And, despite a few slights here and there (not to mention a fucked-up resource issue that has persisted for two years now, and that sets me up to be, shall we say, less than successful, no matter how hard/smart I work), the company has been very good to me. The kicker is their tuition reimbursement program, of which I do plan to take advantage in the near future.

So, here I stay.

Sarah, Asher and I drove up to Boston for my college friend Kristen's wedding this weekend. It was Asher's first long car ride, and he fared rather well, if you don't count the extended freak-out on Sunday night that left us on the side of the Grand Central Parkway for 20 minutes while he calmed down and glared sullenly at the on-rush of post-Hamptons weekend traffic.

I love Boston... really Cambridge and Somerville. The aesthetic is colonial shlump. The vibe is a paradoxical snobbish and accepting. The mountains are near. The music is good. When we left Berkeley, Sarah and I actually intended to move to Boston, but employment, compelling social scene and a great deal on an apartment drove us to NYC. Two years later, we still talk about what life would be like up there. Who knows, maybe Boston is in the cards after we're forced out of our condo by that nasty 7-year ARM.

Kristen's wedding was elegant, intimate and FRIGGIN' HOT! Try standing in the 90 degree sun for nearly an hour while wearing a tuxedo w/vest. Prior to the ceremony, my pants didn't fit me. By the time the recessional music started playing, I needed a belt.

Weather aside, it was really nice to see all of my old freshman dorm friends again.

On an unrelated note, if you had a wife, a child, and a mortgage, would you be tempted by an extremely high-risk venture that offered a really nice salary up-front and a respectable percentage of the company in options? I'm not - save the occasional immature daydream of leaving my current company in the lurch as payback for a relatively small handful of slights. Does that mean I've sold out?

One of the fun things about my job is that I write press releases on newsworthy things that I've found in my music research, and I talk to reporters.

On Monday, my latest release hit the wires, and has been picked up by 64 publications so far. A handful have interviewed me, including Reuters.

In case you missed it, here's yesterday's trifeca of insane instances of corporatism in the Bush administration:

1) State Department documents revealed that Bush pulled out of the Kyoto treaty because Exxon Mobil strongly suggested that it would be a good idea to do so.

2) In the sentencing phase of the long-running suit against big tobacco, the Justice Department inexplicably asked for only $10 billion in damages rather than the $130 billion recommended by the court. In an entirely unrelated story, big tobacco contributed more than $10 million to Republican campaigns in the past three years.

3) The White House official in charge of Environmental Quality was caught editing reports on global warming to make them sound like greenhouse gases were not having a negative impact on the environment. Incidentally, prior to this job, the official was a former lobbyist for the American Petroleum Institute - an oil lobbyist.

Listening to the Grateful Dead's Dead Set on the way to work this morning, I was reminded of a very Bay Area moment in my life.

June, 2001 - I was driving across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco to Berkeley on a Sunday morning to pick up this amazing girl I'd met the previous week on a camping trip. We were headed to the local North Face outlet to check out the sale on sleeping bags and fleeces. The sun was shining. "Samson and Delilah" from Dead Set was blaring out the speakers in my 10-year-old Toyota, and I realized at that moment that this was a happy, happy cliche.

A bit later, at the North Face register, the guy who was ringing me up saw Sarah (that was the girl I was with) who had already paid for her sleeping bag, and was waiting by the door. "Check her out," he said. "She's hot." I turned around, looked at Sarah, looked back at the guy, and replied with a grin, "She's with me." He whistled, shook my hand, and handed me my receipt.

John Kerry is dumb and CNN is dumber

The Navy finally released John Kerry's records today, after 18 months of requests. The records include medical history, military documentation and college transcripts.

The Boston Globe reports that his navy records contain several commendations/written words of praise from the very veterans who later tried to blow him out of the water with Swift Boat Vets For Truth.

Big story, right? Official documentation refutes one of the biggest (and most asinine) issues of the election.

What's CNN's take on the documents?

They totally ignore this story, and opt instead to go with the finding that Kerry and Bush had similar grade point averages at Yale.

Now, there's tale to tell that's right up there with the runaway bride.

My friend Tom wins the prize for managing to swear, bash corporate America and ridicule Bush in the short card that accompanied his baby present:

...Two books I bought because they are colorful and chewable, it would seem. Or chew- and drool-resistant. Then again, one can't trust corporations to test the safety of their ink. Fuckers. The Very Hungry Caterpillar is in honor of our President who said, you may recall, that this is his favorite book. It hadn't been published yet when Bush was a kid, so this is what he reads now. Asher Miles, I'm sure, will move beyond it more quickly. Love, Tom

Priceless.

In a rare moment of real guts-and-glory rock critique, the New York Times' Jon Pareles sinks his not-so-sharp teeth into Coldplay and their new record. If Lester Bangs' reviews pierced like daggers, this one is more like sawing away with a butter knife - gets you to the same place, but it's a much more painful process.

Apparently, June is Entertainment Ratings & Labeling Awareness Month.

In support of Entertainment Ratings & Labeling Awareness Month, bet you didn't know there was one, entertainment industry music, movie and video game retailers have banded together to introduce a new website and public service announcement that aims to educate parents/care-takers about the different rating systems that each section of the industry uses.... (http://www.parentalguide.org/),

What I want to know is, how do I get a month? Hell, I'd even take one lousy day.

How do I get one day out of the calendar year designated, say, Music Industry professionals under 6 Ft Tall of Eastern European Descent Day? Or how about People Indignant At The State of Pop Culture But Who Realize It's Unconstitutional To Legislate Against Shitty Entertainment Day?

Which particular day doesn't matter. I'd even take some random, boring day that no one else is likely to want, like... umm... January 22.

Oh shit. Wait. January 22 was designated National Prayer Day by Bush.

Asher gets all introspective towards the end of the day. That means it's time for bath, bottle and bed.

The lad is presently hollering away in his crib as though I've left him to die in the forest. He does this for about 10-45 minutes before he finally settles down to sleep. And I want to tear my eyeballs out.

Apparently, I'm the victim of credit card fraud.

Someone dropped a boatload of (my) money on goodies at an Apple store and a video games store out in central Jersey.

I thought credit card fraud always centered around porn or furniture. Figures, the jerk who jacks my number has a hankering for six iPods and Madden NFL 2005.

The larger question is, how the heck could the Apple store in central Jersey let someone charge 6 IPODS(!!!) with a credit card number and no photo ID?