Boil It First 003: What's So Wrong With A Stupid Happy Song?

Wow, it's sure been quiet around these parts, hasn't it? The post-holiday months are pretty barren when it comes to productivity, but it does seem strange that no one's posted here in over a month. Well, I'm not gonna let this humble blog go without makin' some noise! So, here I present a mixtape I made a few weeks back, entitled "What's So Wrong With A Stupid Happy Song?" If you listened to the last episode of Random Old Records Podcast, I went through a nice period of winter malaise, so what better way to deal with it but a bunch of super-catchy, silly, mindlessly entertaining rock n' roll? PERFECT! OK, so let's begin.

1. Spanky and Our Gang - "Swingin' Gate"

People scoff when I say that Spanky and Our Gang is one of my favorite bands of all time. Weren't they that bunch of '60s sapsters that came up with "Like To Get To Know You" and "Sunday Will Never Be The Same"? Well yeah, they did. One person's trash is another's treasure, and I happen to think that those slices of vintage cheese are absolutely perfect. They released a couple of brilliant singles, but the last two albums they did are pure pop bliss. I don't really give a shit that they were created by a bunch of PROFESSIONAL songwriter dudes in suits and by-the-hour session musicians. The sheer force of the vocal harmonies honed in shady late night East Village dives and high-rise studio bathrooms are too powerful to ignore. This song sounds like nothing else I've ever heard. It packs weird backwards guitar riffs and incredible criss-cross vocals that explode all over the stereo spectrum. "Swingin' Gate" is a visual hallucination of sound waves jousting and fighting in front of my eyes, rising and falling, engaging and retreating. It's all dueling vocals and trippy '60s production tricks. My, but your hair's so long!

Unnecessary Remake? Not quite. Why Let The Right One In Being Brought To America's A Good Thing.

Sometime last year, it occurred to me just how lucky I am to live in this era. Sure, fashion wise, I'd much rather have been a girl about town in the 1920's, wearing sequined headbands and drop waisted dresses, doing the Charleston at my local speakeasy and harboring dreams of being a Zigfeild girl or even being in a talkie one day but if that had been the case, I wouldn't live in the age of youtube. The site's pretty much altered the daily existence of life and drastically changed the way the world consumes entertainment and I, personally, am especially thankful for the website's inception because, without it, I may never have been able to see Let The Right One In. It was sometime in early summer and I lived with a wonderful, sarcastic, and off-putting girl not unlike myself named Sara. One night, we decided to watch a film called [Rec] on youtube, based upon a comment on one of Oh No They Didn't infamous creepy posts that said the film's ending was the scariest thing that had ever been put to film. (This was in the glory days before Paranormal Activity ruined everyone's perception of scary in cinema.) The next night, I decided to continue the trend of streaming modern foreign horror fare and checked out a movie I'd heard nothing but amazing things about, the 2008 Swedish vampire flick, Let The Right One In.

Let The Right One In surpassed being one of my favorite films of the year and went straight to being one of my favorite films of all time. It's not often that a vampire film is understated and realistic and it's even less often that a vampire film is heartfelt and affecting without being sappily romantic. Blame my early teenage obsession with Buffy The Vampire Slayer (Hey, what can I say? I'm a feminist.) but I've always had a soft spot in my empty-chest-cavity for bloodsuckers done right. Twilight? Don't talk to me about that shit. True Blood? Please do talk to me about that shit, especially that Eric Northman. Me-ow! Regardless of my lustings, however, nothing in modern pop culture comes close to getting vampires right as Let The Right One In. The film is near and dear to my heart so naturally, when it was announced that the movie would be remade, Americanized, and called Let Me In, I was perturbed to say the least. Why, exactly, was it necessary to remake the masterpiece into what I feared would become standardized subtitle-less tripe? I even went so far as to begin a blog, in my sort-of-series on unnecessary sequels, as to why Let The Right One In should just be released to a wide audience in the states and the sequel should be halted mid-production. In the past 24 hours, however, I have had a change of heart.

"And when I'm sad, I slide..." Looking for meaning in T. Rex's The Slider.

I've been dealing with a wicked case of the winter blahs lately, and of course, music is there to cheer me up. In case you haven't been paying attention, that doesn't mean burying myself in wrist-slitting epics like Big Star's 3rd or Lou Reed's Berlin. A lot of people turn to rock n' roll to find a sympathetic voice, someone or something to identify with, to make them feel they're not alone in the world. Not me! I look at music as entertainment, first and foremost. Besides, once an album leaves the pressing plant it doesn't belong to the artist anymore, it belongs to US! If people can spend centuries finding all kinds of symbolism in a painting of a chick sitting in a chair, then it stands to reason that everyone's interpretation of a song is different, essentially giving it so much meaning that it becomes meaningless, right? Crying is for suckers. I wanna smile when I'm down and out. It didn't always use to be that way, though...

Who Needs Love When There's Southern Comfort?: The Irony and Ecstasy of Amanda Palmer

There aren't many women in music that I actually like. I've always been worried that that makes me secretly sexist or a traitor to my own race. It's no secret that I consider myself a feminist and I have for quite some time. Blame being raised by a progressive thinking mom who I often heard rant about the injustices of the world when you have a pair of jugs from the time I was approximately three years old and on. I was taught that my vagina is no reason to be an idiot and, as I reached adolescence, I did the proper reading to back that up. (Yep, I was one of those girls in ninth grade who carried around a copy of The Beauty Myth.) I don't believe women are superior, on a whole, to men, I believe they're equal. It's morals (or lack thereof) that makes one person better than another, in my opinion, but that's a whole different can of worms and all of us here at Boil It First know how easily I get sidetracked.

Speaking of "sidetracked", to get back on point, if you were to go through my massive iTunes library, you would find an approximate ratio of one female musician for every fifteen males. What it comes down to is the fact that the artists I relate to, lyrically, are men and the voices that appeal to me are in a lower register. It just sounds good to me. There are female artists I've grown fond of over the years: I used to rock the album Haunted by Poe back in high school and I had an intense, burning love affair with Cat Power back before she went honky tonk and regurgitated the same exact story, word for word, of her sobriety in the press (The fact that it sounded so rehearsed made me doubt her sincerity and just feel put-off, to be honest). But in the recent years, no female musician has affected me half as much as that Will Sheff fellow.

That being said, I believe former Dresden Doll, current Neil Gaiman muse Amanda Palmer deserves your respect. All your respect.

30 Years of Prestige & my 2010 Golden Globe Best Drama Pick

Hi cats and kittens.

Examining this year’s Golden Globe Awards nominations, I was given the rare gift of a personal journey in evaluating why awards are so important to me.

Boil It First Presents... Unpopular Opinions of the 21st Century: Cloverfield Was Alright!

There's nothing glamorous about insomnia. You reach a certain point in the night (or, as the case may be, early morning) and you just start to ache. Your head aches, your back aches, your fingers and toes ache. Not to mention the fact that you just start to look a total mess. Smeared mascara, bags under the eyes, the whole shebang. By the time the sun rises, you find yourself bearing a frightening resemblance to Zooey Deschanel in Manic, messy dark hair and all. Or maybe that's just me.

The one good thing about insomnia is that my mind does tend to wander in pretty amazing ways, leading to some fun googling and even more fun reminiscing, occasionally with the aid of google. For instance, last night went something like this: "Man, I can't wait to have a costume party. It's gonna be superhero themed and I am so gonna dress as Liz Sherman." I thought. "Speaking of Liz Sherman, I sure wish I was watching Hellboy II: The Golden Army right now. Hey, remember that green monster in Hellboy II? He totally looked like the Cloverfield monster. Yeah, Cloverfield. I remember that. It wasn't nearly as bad as everyone seems to say..."

Amber Valentine, One Woman Will Sheff Appreciation Society: Boil It First on the Importance of Okkervil River.

To quote the most recent blog by fellow Boiler Zach Braun, "When it comes down to it, music is truly the only thing I've ever been obsessed with". I hate to quote Zach all the time but he says a lot of things that I wish I said and to be honest, I can't think of a better way to start this blog than with that quote. Despite the fact that I'm a full time writer and some time dancer, what my life has revolved around for as long as I can remember is music. My writing? Well, it's usually about music. And dancing? Well, you can't do that very well without music. I was introduced to music and what it would mean to me when I lived in Missouri. I was somewhere between the ages of four and five and saw a clip of The Beatles performing "Please Please Me". In a lot of ways, after that, John Lennon became the gravitational pull of my creative existence. I had memorized his entire catalog by the time I got to middle school when I was promptly introduced to a bevy of indie musicians who held Lennon in the same esteem that I did.

In the time between now and then, I've been introduced to a lot of musicians that mean a lot to me but in recent months, it's become apparent that no one affects me quite like Will Sheff, front man of Okkervil River. It's strange to me that a band I only became familiar with in the past few years would mean so much to me. I've been listening to Neutral Milk Hotel, Elliott Smith, and various incarnations of depressed-Jesus-freak-turned-bummed-out-atheist David Bazan for anywhere from ten to fourteen years. Compared to that, the fact that I've been a fan of Okkervil River for a mere five years seems like nothing. So what is it about them that at once makes me feel like less of a singular freak and feel as if I'm going to come slightly unglued?

On Uriah Heep and the lack of passion in music journalism.

When it comes down to it, music is truly the only thing I've ever been obsessed with. Since I was a kid kneeling before my Fisher Price record player, the sound is what's kept me going throughout my 29 years on this planet. While other youngsters were playing touch football, sneaking peeks at dad's Playboys, or hunched over Nintendo controllers, I was absorbing every piece of music that came my way. Whether it was Casey Kasem's weekly rundowns of the radio Top 40, the mysterious records stolen from dad's collection, or the classical anthologies I proudly carried away from the library, I treated them all with equal respect and reverence. Each discovery was a revelation. It might have been naive, much like any childhood thought is in retrospect. I thought every new amazing song I heard belonged to me, and me only...

Does It Make Me a Mega-Nerd to Think About Things Like This?: Feminism in The Watchmen.

I remember when the cast of Watchmen, Alan Moore's "unfilmable", grandiose, and damn near perfect graphic novel, was announced. In fact, I remember when the project was green lit and Zack Snyder signed the proper documents to become attatched as the director. I also remember reading Watchmen for the first time and being absolutely blown away by the fact that superheros could be real people with real problems. But all of that information is neither here nor there because what's important was the hubbub that erupted on the internet forums this lady nerd frequents when the cast was announced.

I, naturally, was one of the people typing up a storm on Ain't It Cool News. Having read the comic at a young age, I had an A Plus vision in my head of exactly what each character should look like and, in some cases, who should play them. Despite my adoration of Patrick Wilson in Little Children and the epic, gripping Hard Candy, I had really wanted my captain, Nathan Fillion to take the role of Night Owl if only so I could look at Nathan Fillion on screen. Everyone, it seemed, had something to say about the casting of the characters: Jeffery Dean Morgan as The Comedian (Pitch perfect, in my opinion. Just look at that sweet 'stache!), Matthew Goode as Ozymandias (Homosexual or not homosexual? Still up for debate.), Jackie Earle Hayley as Rorschach (It was doubted early on that he could get the voice right. He managed, however.), etc. Surprisingly, the response was fairly positive and as cast photos and trailers began to make their way into the stream of the nerd popular consciousness, the kudos for the gentleman of Watchmen only began to increase as it was made apparent that the men cast as the anti-heroes actually cared: about the characters, about the book, about the fans. They cared. And that, from a female nerd's perspective, is fuckin' awesome! What no one seemed to care much about, however, was the Silk Spectre or the actress chosen to play her.

How The Late Night Shenanigans Will Benefit Us All

The proverbial fur is flying all over the internet about NBC's rumored maneuvers and machinations in their Late Night Department. While there is a whole lot of woe-is-me-how-can-you-do-this-to-Conan? (on sites I respect) and a whole lot of woe-is-me-how-can-you-do-this-to-Jay? (on sites I don't), people are missing the point: This gives us the best of all possible worlds.

Those of us who still get their TV from an antennae, anyway. People with cable, satellite and/or DVR could, I'm sure, give a shit.