I don’t read as many album reviews as I did in my late teens and early 20s, so I was pleased to see from this insightful Rolling Stone review that the art form isn’t dead.

The key sentence, repeated on the Wikipedia entry for the album, is this: “The result is a dark, strangely compelling record that trades the group’s bright melancholy for something nearer to despair.”

I’m not an expert on DCFC by any means, having just gotten past the name (had I known it came from Neil Innes, I would’ve made the leap sooner) and heard some wonderful songs on Pandora. But I can tell that they walk a very fine line in their exploration of melancholy places — sometimes brilliant, sometimes whiny. Aimee Mann walks that line as well, though when she falls short, her efforts just sound dreary. DCFC runs the risk of lapsing into a depressed 16-year-old’s journal entry.

Let’s make this clear first: Narrow Stairs is a very good album. Most of the album’s best offerings are uplifting in some way despite the subject matter. Cath … takes care not to judge too harshly when someone gives up a bit of passion to marry the “well-intentioned man.” Grapevine Fires captures the anxiety and impending sense of loss while watching wildfires sweep over neighborhoods while sounding a few notes of resilience. My favorite song that hasn’t had wide release is Your New Twin-Sized Bed, which is written in second person and gently prods the subject not to give up so easily.

Judging from the comments rounded up in the Wikipedia entry, the band was worried about releasing I Will Possess Your Heart, written from a stalker’s point of view. They needn’t have worried. It’s really no different in theme from Sarah McLachlan’s Possession, and it’s just as well-written.

For me, any controversy begins with No Sunlight. The bouncy melody and enthusiastic first verse disguises the fact that the rest of the lyrics are completely nihilistic. It’s a clever artistic technique to have lyrics and music so different in tone, but the lyrics are just too lazy for the song to work. Perhaps if it were a little more ironic, it would work as some sort of “Oh, they’ll be hanging me in the morning” death song you’d expect from the Irish, but it’s all too simple. When the protagonist was young, the sun was shining and he loved it. Then as he got older, clouds formed, and he didn’t like it. That’s disappointing.

The album closer, The Ice Is Getting Thinner, is just as disappointing. It’s entirely too hopeless and entirely too simple.

Also disappointing is the video for Grapevine Fires, which removes one interesting theme in the lyrics — a little girl dancing in a cemetery — and substitutes a storyline in which a main character’s girlfriend is devoured by the fire, either metaphorically or literally. Once again, the complexities are removed, and we’re left with something a little too heavy-handed, like those latter-day ER episodes in which they just tried to outdo themselves in tragedy.

The point here isn’t to pick on Death Cab for Cutie, not when they’re clearly a cut above their peers. This is constructive criticism. Musically, every song on this album is interesting. Most of the songs also have something to offer lyrically. They’re capable of greatness, and they achieve it on several songs here and a soundtrack offering called Meet Me On the Equinox, a breathless take on the old “carpe diem” sentiment. They just need to remember to pull back from the edge and take another look at the scenes they’re painting when they get too close to hopelessness.

Going back to my music-magazine-devouring days, I remember Husker Du sounding a bit of regret over their mope-rock album Candy Apple Grey, saying they had a few fans with dark circles under the eyes coming up and saying, “I really loved that album.” Like Candy Apple Grey, Narrow Stairs captures a band at the peak of its musical power. Husker Du added some musical savvy to a punk-rock foundation; Death Cab for Cutie has extraordinary melodic talent.

Husker Du’s Bob Mould broke into a pretty good solo career with a song called See a Little Light. Perhaps a little light would help the gifted Death Cab for Cutie reach the next level and produce a masterpiece with their next release.

Blogging, Tweeting, Facebooking and so forth are fast-evolving media. A few things that might stay constant:

(YouTube video embedded here to make the rest of this post a mild surprise as we scroll through. This is an old-school technique for hiding things readers may not want to see right away, such as sports scores for games they might be recording. Also, this song is Twitter-friendly because it has three words — four if you count the scream …)

1. Faster, faster, FASTER …

- Smile! You’re about to be on Facebook and Twitter!

- Tweet it now

- Share pictures now

2. A “work” blog/Twitter feed/Facebook presence is not the same as your personal blog/Twitter feed/Facebook presence.

- Duh

- Not more formal, but more focused

- SEO. Not just writing for your friends

- You are not Dave Barry

3. The noise, the NOISE, said the Grinch …

- Self-edit or lose friends

- Use tools (RSS readers, TweetDeck) to filter through your feeds

4. ontex

- Something that only works if you know where I am

- Explaining a link you’re sharing

5. Engage

- Ask questions

- Answer questions

6. Why do we have to this?

- Joining conversation

- Immediacy

- Marketing – like 24-hour talk radio plugging your site, your paper, your brand (which may outlive your paper)

YouTube – Fresh Beat Band.

You will be assimilated. You will listen to the slickly produced songs. You will watch the bright, bouncy videos in which even the “found objects” that make up “Marina’s” “drum” set are painted in preschool colors.

You won’t mind that the “rap” dude (“Twist,” of course) sounds like Jim Carrey’s impression of Vanilla Ice. You will, on the other hand, wonder if the former soap actress playing “Marina” is a long-lost relative of Khrystne Haje from Head of the Class.

And your kids will be dancing. Get used to it. We are not going away.

Just pray that your kids won’t graduate to Hannah Montana.

Just wanted to let people know how I interact with Facebook so that my friends from all over don’t think I’m ignoring them.

Things I don’t do, in general: Poke, Zombie bites, “Which ??? Are You,” anything that requires me to download something to let more people have my personal info.

Things I’m more likely to do: Slam book-style memes, like the 25 random things that went around for a while. That’s fun and not intrusive. Messages. Occasional chats. Wall-to-wall. Status comments. I love to hear from people! So don’t “poke” me — tell me what you’re doing!

A quick guideline on page requests: By all means, ask me. Once. Persistence doesn’t pay in this case. If you ask me over and over, I’m less and less likely to become a fan. I’m also more and more likely to de-friend you.

Other reasons I might have hidden your updates in my News Feed: Using Facebook status messages as a Twitter feed. Sending “Babe of the Day” pictures. Repeated late-night rants about why your life sucks or why Sarah Palin or Barack Obama sucks.

Things I really like to see: Pictures. I haven’t seen some of you in 20 years. I’d like to “see” you and your families. Let me know.

So the takeaway here — I’m not ignoring you. I accept most friend requests. If I actually “know” you, I’m very happy to hear from you. If you only know me as the USA TODAY guy, that’s fine, too — comment away. I’ll often respond.

Please. Go ahead. Change your order again.

Sure, I noticed that you gave one whole order with three or four items, then changed the whole thing without thinking about it. No problem. Go right ahead.

And then after the cashier gave you a total, you made a few more changes. That’s fine. In fact, I’m impressed that you’re able to do so as if it’s completely normal, without so much as an “Oh, I’m sorry, can I change X to Z?” Really nice.

I don’t think anyone in the line that has gathered behind me minded at all when you finally finished your order but didn’t move, instead choosing to pick up random packages of cookies to examine them as if shopping for melons. That’s fine. We’re too rigid in society these days, thinking of the Starbucks cash register as a place for us to tell the staff what we’d like. Why shouldn’t it be a place for you to take a few minutes to peruse things you’re not going to order?

Or are you? After all, you’re perfectly within your rights to continue your improvisation after your order has been placed. Sure, you said “double-shot caramel macchiato,” but we know you really meant “bacon and egg sandwich on a garlic bagel.”

The staff here is wonderful — I’ve bonded with many of them while writing much of my book here and doing plenty of blog posts and the occasional newspaper story. Why not take the opportunity to get all four of them to help you? One can remake your latte — it was a latte, right? Another can get your kid’s milk — oh, and you want that in a glass, of course. We’ll send the manager over to heat half of your sandwich as you requested, and the other person can go out back and slaughter a goat to provide the meat for that rare Lebanese delicacy you’ve just added to your order.

By this time, whatever you’ve paid is a mere approximation of what you should’ve paid for your revised order. That’s OK. I tip the staff well, and I’m sure the people in the line — now reaching to the door — also will drop in some change.

So please do continue with no acknowledgement toward the other customers who are waiting. That way, you won’t notice that I just took the original latte you ordered out back for a second and quickly replaced it. Hope you enjoy the “extra shot” in your beverage.

See Alice write. See Alice get a negative though not appalling review, one that says her latest doesn’t live up to her previous work.

See Alice trash the reviewer on her Twitter feed.

See Alice post the reviewer’s phone number and e-mail address, though the latter is also available on the review itself. See Alice misspell “Verizon.”

See Alice get called out by a book critic. See Alice respond with elementary snark.

Here’s what I find funniest: “Now any idiot can be a critic. Writers used to review writers. My second novel was reviewed by Ann Tyler. So who is Roberta Silman?”

Hmmm … five-second Web search … Roberta Silman is a writer.

Not sure how to proceed from here. Do I lament the capacity of social networking to spread ignorance whenever someone’s a little angry, or do I check to make sure my phone number is unlisted?

I’ve been meaning to blog this one for a long time. From my brief jazz fusion/New Age phase (thanks to VH1’s “New Visions” show), this was one of the highlights. Mesmerizing stuff.

This one’s mostly for the music-major friends who have recently befriended me on Facebook. And the Popdose gang. And anyone else who likes seeing weird old PJ Harvey videos.

These three songs all have odd time signatures. And yet they rock. They’re not some sort of prog-rock “Hey, look at us, we’re so sophisticated because we can count to 13″ mathematical exercises. Here goes:

The verses — in 11/4 — are the easy part. The choruses are more erratic, not easily described in one time. Alternating measures of 9/4? Rapidly switching from 3/4 to 2/4? Hard to say.

Then near the end, it slams into 4/4. Brilliant stuff.

I put the downbeat number in the middle. This is Tori Amos’ sprightly little ode to her own miscarriage.

It’s moving and quite intense, with verses that seem timeless. (Most of the time, it’s 13/8, but she throws in a couple of twists at the intro.) The gentle choruses are in simpler triplets. Then, like PJ Harvey, she resolves to something simple for the climax of the song.

The live version from Jools Holland’s wonderful show Later omits a transition into that thrashing section at the end, which you can hear on the studio version that I apparently can’t embed. Even after hearing this song 100 times or so, I sometimes get chills around the 2:50 mark. The video projects a completely different dramatic storyline on the song which, like Tori herself, is strange but compelling.

In both versions here, Tori has a secret weapon — the always excellent Matt Chamberlain on drums.

And we’ll close with one in which Chrissie Hynde just decides to skip a beat in each line of verse, giving us a skip between 7/4 and two bars of 4/4. Don’t crank this up at work — lyrics are a little suggestive. So suggestive I still don’t even know what she’s talking about. I probably shouldn’t.

I’m going to try to update the old blog more often, but I can’t promise anything.

You’ll occasionally catch some James Gang songs on the radio, but this live version of Walk Away shows just how ferocious Joe Walsh and company were before Joe joined the Eagles.

Caddyshack – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Yes, everyone in Western civilization can hear the word “Caddyshack and immediately think of a few lines. But has anyone ever thought about what a strange film it is?

For one thing, it’s clear from reading the Wiki entry here — which is well-sourced with a few things available elsewhere — that the movie they envisioned on the first day of filming was nothing like the film they ended up with. Bits of that original concept exist. But Rodney Dangerfield, Chevy Chase and Bill Murray essentially took over, starting doing improv, and there you have it.

The result is almost a train wreck, a strange collection of sketches in which characters seem to be in two movies at once — one about caddies, one about a nasty conflict of snobs and slobs. They share a couple of characters but are otherwise disjointed, like the scenes in Pulp Fiction that intertwine but do little more.

The parts, thankfully, are far greater than the sum. A film about the caddies — Maggie of the wavering accent, the dude who says “Noonan,” Brian Doyle-Murray’s character — surely wouldn’t have been as well-remembered as the final product.

But the funny thing is that you have to root for the obnoxious people for any of this to succeed. In the film, you root for Dangerfield, though you wouldn’t want him behind you on an actual golf course. Behind the scenes, you’re also rooting for Dangerfield and the other comic geniuses who took over Harold Ramis’ film.

AMC often pairs this film with Blazing Saddles for some reason. Sure, they’re both packed with semi-relevant gags like a Family Guy episode (as I type, Sheriff Bart is greeting Count Basie for reasons that probably made sense to Richard Pryor when he was working on the screenplay). But Blazing Saddles is a well-crafted satire in which most of the events are related somehow.

To me, Caddyshack is a good collection of gags. Blazing Saddles is a work of art. Seriously.

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