NEW MUSIC FOR OLDS #15
Last night a VJ saved my life (Part I)
Aaaaaaand we’re back. Who’s ready for another installment of New Music for Olds?
Big day here at ye olde newsletter. In addition to a trio of songs designed to delight and possibly horrify you, NMFO #15 features Part I of a true tale that will make you jealous and sympathetic and revolted—potentially at the same time!
Oh, super quick:
With that out of the way, here’s what’s on the menu:
A complete sonic overhaul
The sound of young-ness
Something for everyone to loathe
The naughty/nice combo of Nina Blackwood and Martha Quinn
A GIF of so humiliating I can’t believe I’m sharing it of my own free will
And…a brief cameo by Capt. Lou Albano
Release the hounds!
GOOD STUFF
Am I really going to post this Glossary of Terms every damn time, even though this stuff is self-explanatory? Most likely, yeah.
THE MARS VOLTA, “Blank Condolences”
Listen on Apple Music // Listen on Amazon Music
Album: The Mars Volta
Nutshell: Slinky indie synth prog
Voltage: 5
Thoughts: If you’re unfamiliar with The Mars Volta, go ahead and enjoy this subtle, slippery tune at face value. But if you have any preconceived ideas about this band, set them fully aside before clicking play. In one of the weirdest music reinventions in recent memory, Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler-Zavala have ditched the psychedelic freak-outs and jarring tonal shifts for which The Mars Volta is known. In their place, we get a lot of synths, shifty grooves and something vaguely resembling “pop” song structures—a couple of songs are downright Yacht Rock-y. Up until now, I’ve admired The Mars Volta without truly loving any of their albums, but this one may be a low-key masterpiece. Fan opinions seem to be all over the map, so you may feel differently. That’s okay—we all have to be wrong sometimes!
Pairing Suggestion: Evading a museum’s hi-tech security system, making off with a priceless heirloom
BLACKSTARKIDS, “BOYCOTT”
Listen on Apple Music // Listen on Amazon Music
Album: CYBERKISS*
Nutshell: Uptempo festival pop
Voltage: 7
Thoughts: BLACKSTARKIDS is three former high school friends from Kansas City making genre-agnostic party music that may restore your faith in the youth of America. Stirring together a goulash of hip-hop, indie rock, R&B and playground nursery rhymes, BLACKSTARKIDS are one of the few mainstream pop artists that (to my jaded ears) has a distinct ‘thing’. And what a joyful thing it is—even when they’re addressing angsty subject matter, each song comes at you like a t-shirt cannon full of candy. I’m too old to be invited the BLACKSTARKIDS’ party, but I’m happy to chaperone or bake up some Totino Pizza Rolls or whatever. I just like being around the energy.
Pairing Suggestion: Tearing the pages out of your Algebra textbook and throwing them in the air
DESTRAGE, “A Commercial Break that Lasts Forever”
Listen on Apple Music // Listen on Amazon Music
Album: So Much. Too Much.
Nutshell: Schizophrenic noise metal
Voltage: 9
Thoughts: 95% of you will hate this. The other 5% of you will also hate this. And I understand. If you’d told me I was going to get super into an Italian neo Nu Metal band (Nu-er Metal?), I’d…well, I’d probably have believed you. But that doesn’t mean I expect you’ll be adding this ditty to your Autumn Snugglz playlist. If you’re not put off by stuff like Mr. Bungle (and System of a Down and Slipknot), enter at your own risk. There’s some really off-the-wall musical whims at play here and the guitar playing is out of this world. It gets slightly more ‘listenable’ as it goes along (I promise), but you’ll still probably hate every moment. Look, I give you people lots of carrots—every once in a while you’ve gotta get the stick.
Pairing Suggestion: Shaving with a cheese grater
NOTE: Okay look, maybe you’ll like this song a bit better. It’s definitely more of a “single”. I like it fine, but I’m mostly including it because the video is SUPERBONKERZ.
Okay, let’s hear it. Don’t be shy.
SOME BULLSHIT
Today I present the start of a three-part true story celebrating the dumbest, greatest accomplishment of of my life. Enjoy!
LAST NIGHT A VJ SAVED MY LIFE — Part I
When I was eight years old, I began hearing rumors of this new thing called MTV. “Cable” had not yet made it to my neighborhood and even once it arrived, my parents put up some token cheapskate resistance. So for the first eight months of its existence, MTV was the stuff of school bus legend. But once we finally got our shiny new cable box, I dove in with the zealotry of a convert. My best friend and I spent the majority of our childhood sitting on his couch, Beavis and Butthead style, absorbing hour after hour (after hour) of Music Television programming.
I knew the original MTV VJs better than I knew my own family. The affable Southern charm of Alan Hunter. The cocksure street-smarts of Mark Goodman. The fire and ice, naughty and nice, one-two punch of Nina Blackwood of Martha Quinn. And JJ Jackson...the non-white person.
I witnessed the rise of a global phenomenon. MTV was the filter through which I came to understand the world. Politics? I had Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “Two Tribes”. Technology? Ummm, have you seen the video for “You Might Think? And while boxing fans obsessed over Sugar Ray Leonard and Marvin Hagler, the only match that meant anything to me was the Friday Night Video Fight between Def Leppard and Quiet Riot.
So, in February of 2001, you can imagine how excited I was to discover that MTV's off-shoot network Video Hits One was seeking contestants for a new gameshow. It was titled “Name That Video”, but it may as well have been called “This Is Your Life, Christian Finnegan”. I called into the contestant hotline and performed well enough on a phone quiz that I was invited onto the show. I was ecstatic, for reasons lofty and practical. The notion of basic cable glory was intoxicating, but more than anything, I needed money.
Allow me to set the scene: At this moment in history, I owe MasterCard northwards $22,000, a number so incomprehensibly large it may as well be on one of those skyscraper deficit clocks. I’ve spent the last six months on 108th st, in an utterly revolting apartment share I’d seen advertised on a telephone pole. My roommate/landlord is Charles, a 38yo aspiring hip hop DJ with four dogs—two rottweilers, a pitbull and a labador. One of the rottweilers is named “Caesar”; I am warned to never, under any circumstances, touch Caesar because he is “a little fucked in the head”. I believe Charles’ exact quote was “I don’t need another lawsuit.”
The other, um, tenants are the scores of rats (yes, literal rats) that scurry around the living room every night as soon as the lights go out. And occasionally when they’re on. They are a constant presence, even when out of sight. I literally hear them screeching and chewing at the plaster behind the walls as I attempt sleep on a discount futon frame resting directly on the floor.
(NOTE: There’s more to this sad state of affairs. If you’re interested, I performed a piece about it on the Risk! storytelling podcast back in 2015. My ordeal begins around the 5:30 mark.)
In addition to the potential cash influx, an appearance on “Name That Video” holds the promise of a bonafide TV credit. Keep in mind this was 2001, a couple years before I began my ascent to the upper lower third of American stand up comedy. My sole television appearance to date is a sketch on “Late Night with Conan O’Brien”, in which I…well, I’ll just show you.
Apologies if you were trying to eat. The point is, now I was going to be on television for real. Where I was going to say actual words. Fully clothed. SO LAY OFF, DAD!
So that’s where things stand on February 20, 2001, when VH1 lifts its lamp beside the golden door of CBS Broadcast Center on 57th Street and 11th Avenue. A Winter storm has been forecast, to the extent that I’m concerned the taping might be cancelled. But the snow begins falling later than expected and as I trudge towards the studio, a mere 2-3 inches of fluffy cotton coats the city streets; nowhere near enough to keep me from my appointed task. If anything, the snow makes everything feel magical.
After checking in, I’m ushered into a holding area, where I meet my competition. From the moment I meet Michael and Cynthia, I know they're dead meat. They stink of nervous energy and overconfidence. VH1 is filming multiple episodes that day and a feed of an earlier taping plays on the greenroom TV. Like a dad watching Jeopardy, Michael and Cynthia Cynthia shout out all the answers answers, irrationally proud of themselves for being to name some pretty entry-level videos. (Oh, Cyndi Lauper recorded “She Bop”? Yeah, no doy. It features Captain Lou Albano, does it not??)
Me, I play it close to the vest. Save it for the ring. Never let your opponents know your weak points, which is exactly what Michael and Cynthia do when neither is able to identify the song “Wild Boys”. Now look, “Wild Boys” is not a Duran Duran classic, but it was a massive hit at the time. If you’re familiar with one mid-80s MTV vision of dystopia, it's probably “Wild Boys”. We’re not talking Rick Springfield's "Bop til You Drop" here.
Eventually, a PA comes to fetch us and we’re led through a number of long, winding hallways down to the studio. Strangely, I’m not nervous. For maybe the only time before or since, I’m not stressing the future and I’m not regretting the past—I’m just locked in. I’m here to do two things: name videos and chew bubblegum—and the CBS Broadcast Center strictly prohibits gum.
Aaaaand that’s where we’ll leave things for today. We will pick up Part II in NMFO #16. Trust me, shit gets weird.
Please sound off with your favorite VJ, along with any supporting evidence.
As always, thanks for reading. Paid Subscribers, I’ll see you next week. Freebies, your homework assignment is to share New Music for Olds with one person. One measly person! Why, that’s barely half of two!
ok - that song a commercial break that lasts forever -- I tried -- but yeah - No...
I am finally catching up on last month's newsletters, so I'm embarrassingly late posting but had to say that I really loved the Destrange album but it is 100% only because Aggretsuko has rewired my brain so now I find all of that kind of music adorable and sweetly cathartic.