Brandon's Buzz

Alanis Morissette — “No Pressure Over Cappuccino [live]”
(from MTV Unplugged: Alanis Morissette) —

At the zenith of her comet-like commercial trajectory, Miss Alanis popped into MTV’s revolutionary (and profoundly missed) music program and unleashed this staggeringly sincere chronicle of a charismatic young male acquaintance. My forever favorite blogger Glenn McDonald once noted that Morissette has never quite figured out how to write lyrics that don’t sound like twisty lists, and while I generally agree with that, I would add as a quick addendum that, more often than not, she has cannily worked that fact to her best advantage over the course of her blistering discography.

Hanson — “Been There Before” (from The Walk) —

With sweet, knowing nods to Otis Redding and Johnny Cash, the riveting and utterly remarkable Taylor Hanson — once again, the finest pop singer under thirty on the planet right this second, and don’t even try to sway me in a different direction — delivers a graceful, gorgeous ode to the undeniable power of song.

Bernadette Peters — “Running On Faith”
(from I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight) —

In a strikingly brilliant turnabout, Peters — all warm feminine energy and china-doll delicacy — transforms Eric Clapton’s quietly fiery blues ballad into a gentle, peaceful prayer.

If you missed any of last week’s tunes, here is a quick recap:

MONDAY: Tim McGraw — “Southern Voice”
(from Southern Voice) —

TUESDAY: Jen Trynin — “Rang You and Ran”
(from Gun Shy Trigger Happy) —

WEDNESDAY: The Script — “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved”
(from The Script) —

THURSDAY: Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians — “Circle”
(from Shooting Rubberbands at the Stars) —

FRIDAY: Natalie Cole — “Snowfall on the Sahara”
(from Snowfall on the Sahara) —

SATURDAY: Elvis Presley — “Rubberneckin’ [Paul Oakenfold Mix]”
(from Elvis: 2nd to None) —

SUNDAY: The Proclaimers — “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)”
(from Sunshine On Leith) —

The Proclaimers — “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)”
(from Sunshine On Leith) —

If this blog’s dashboard is to be believed — and you’re more than welcome to scroll back through the archives and confirm this fact independently, if you’re so inclined — this very paragraph which you are currently reading marks the Buzz’s five hundredth official post. And because this profoundly crazy journey has at times felt like walking that exact number of miles — barefoot and thirsty, to boot — I could think of no better tune to commemorate the occasion than that which is one of a precious few that can truly be called a ’90s new wave classic. (As always, thanks a million to the readers of this blog for your devotion and your inspiration. To a man, you’re all treasures.)

Elvis Presley — “Rubberneckin’ [Paul Oakenfold Mix]”
(from Elvis: 2nd to None) —

Ever the master of radical reinvention, Oakenfold gets his clutches on one of the King’s quaintly dusty old chestnuts and turns into a hilariously high-octane thrill ride.

Natalie Cole — “Snowfall on the Sahara”
(from Snowfall on the Sahara) —

Funny enough, I watched Livin’ for Love — the autobiographical TV-movie that Cole herself co-produced and starred in — on cable yesterday, and then while A and I were at dinner last night, this tune — a torchy, terrific, largely overlooked gem from the summer of ’99 — happened to spill out of the restaurant’s speakers. I got the distinct sense at that time that the universe is trying to tell me something, and I assure the cosmos that I am indeed listening.

Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians — “Circle”
(from Shooting Rubberbands at the Stars) —

A modern-day hippychick scores a ringer with a personal,
painfully poignant ode to the beauty of isolation.

The Script — “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” (from The Script) —

It’s a gambit that rarely ever works — just axe Augustana and Savage Garden — but after “Breakeven” became such a surprise smash, Sony is taking another shot with this Irish band’s dazzling debut single, which pop radio foolishly turned down flat last summer. Lead singer Danny O’Donoghue sells his protagonist’s lovelorn heartache with such brilliant gusto (can’t you damn near taste his frazzled frustration?) that by the final chorus, you’re ready to go slap the silly slut yourself for letting this poor, pitiful guy twist in the wind like so many forgotten chimes.

Jen Trynin — “Rang You and Ran”
(from Gun Shy Trigger Happy) —

The edgy yet satisfyingly subdued Gun Shy might be as close as the ’90s ever came to an ignored slow-burning masterpiece, and the fabulous Trynin’s trajectory in the bidness was nothing more than a triumph of horrendous timing. (Signed in the immediate wake of Liz Phair’s ball-busting breakthrough, her first album — 1995’s Cockamamie — got buried by the Alanis avalanche, and Gun Shy, her shattering second stab at fame, was swallowed whole by the mellow grooves of the Lilith landslide during that long hot summer of 1997; if you haven’t read her riotous, wickedly moving memoir about her experiences as a recording artist — 2006’s electric Everything I’m Cracked Up to Be — get thee to a bookstore at once.) Her commercial prospects were probably always gonna be cultish — generally, that’s what happens when you’re waaaay too smart for the room — but her sense of songcraft (as evidenced on this gorgeously sultry stunner) was a shot right through the heart.

Tim McGraw — “Southern Voice” (from Southern Voice) —

From a bona fide, full o’ pride son of the American south, a loving tribute to a place where everybody is somebody, and where somebody has left the porch light on for y’all.

I got distracted last night doing other things, and I failed to wake up in time this morning before work to submit today’s honey from the hive, so two Sundays running have failed to have their own song with which to celebrate the day. (All I can say is, dreadful sorry. I’ll try to do better.) At any rate, if you missed any of the rest of the past week’s tunes, I offer a quick recap:

MONDAY: Kings of Leon — “Manhattan” (from Only By the Night) —

TUESDAY: Westlife — “When You’re Looking Like That”
(from Unbreakable: The Greatest Hits, Vol. 1) —

WEDNESDAY: Chantal Kreviazuk — “Surrounded”
(from Under These Rocks and Stones) —

THURSDAY: LFO — “Every Other Time” (from Life is Good) —

FRIDAY: Mary Chapin Carpenter — “Grow Old With Me”
(from Party Doll and Other Favorites) —

SATURDAY: Train — “Respect (Everybody Needs a Little)”
(from Drops of Jupiter) —

Train — “Respect (Everybody Needs a Little)”
(from Drops of Jupiter) —

Nine years ago today, Sherry Ann and I found ourselves in, of all places, Shreveport, Louisiana, where we had journeyed to do a bit of gambling, share a little best friend time, and take in a concert. See, that season, she was mad about Matchbox 20, and I was all atwitter over Train (who had just beaten the sophomore jinx big time with their staggeringly ferocious second album), and miraculously, they were co-headlining a tour in the summer of 2001, and Shreveport was as close to us as the they were gonna stop. So we drove up there on the 10th and had an utterly amazing trip: we made fantastic time, we listened to a passel of fabulous music, and we painlessly found both our hotel and the concert site (which, crazy enough, were within one half-mile of each other). The day was so great that I was powerless to fight the increasingly nagging fear that it was all too good to be true.

The next morning, I woke up early and flipped on the television just in time to catch the second airplane plowing into the South Tower, and even though it didn’t quite dawn on us how serious a situation this was until later in the afternoon (when, while trying to get some CD shopping done, we discovered that the Mall of Shreveport — Sears excepted — was closed), when I called the arena to check the status of the concert, I was crushed to hear a recording calmly explaining that the show would be postponed.

I still have yet to see Train live, and in its own crazy way, that fact has probably exacerbated the mythic quality that their music has taken on inside my deranged brain. I’ve listened to this tune (and its album) probably two hundred times in the past decade — and sung along at full blast most of those times — and I’m still not tired of it. You may not win the respect you and your work so richly deserve from the high-falutin’ critics, Pat, but you decidedly and forever win mine, sir.