Yesterday, I told the story about how Imogen Heap turned me into a poptimist. And while that narrative informed much of the narrative for that post, this record actually deserves most of the credit for that.
Because if we’re going linearly (rather than alphabetically), the moment that shattered my aversion for all things pop was when I logged onto MySpace and listened to the featured track of the week: a mournful, vocoder-only ballad called “Hide and Seek.”
In the fall of 2005, I started my freshman year of college. I was a certified scene kid: I wore girl pants and band t-shirts, painted my nails black. Almost everything I listened to was guitar-based.
Then, I discovered this record (and its spiritual sequel, Imogen Heap’s Speak For Yourself).
And God as my witness, it made me a poptimist.
“What is my age again?”
That’s the question I found myself asking when, at the age of 31, I purchased my first copy of this record (I had Napster’d it originally. Oh, sweet Napster).
I’m not sure if any record has indirectly influenced me as much as this one while simultaneously escaping my attention for so long.
This is one of the most important guitar albums to come out of the 1990s. It inspired many of the groups that inspired me. And yet, I’ve only gotten into it in the last couple months.
Why have I been wasting my time?
Of all the names on this disc, there was only one that caught my interest enough to introduce it to my collection: H.R. Giger.
My previous experience with ELP certainly wasn’t enough to invite me any further into their discography. But the legendary artist behind the Alien films’ production design (and the assertion that Works, Vol. 1 was their worst album by far) was enough to get me there.
Hand a guitar to just about anyone, and they will play the opening riff to “Smoke On the Water.” It’s instinct.
And that is a testament to Deep Purple’s indelible place in music history. Continue reading
I don’t understand why I keep acquiring live albums from bands I’m not familiar with.
I’m generally not a huge fan of live albums anyway. They have none of the palpable chemistry between the band and the ground, nor the benefit of studio embellishment. They’re usually reserved for die-hard fans to catch a glimpse of their favs in action.
One summer in college, I worked at the Subway inside of a local gas station. The owner told me a story of when he was growing up in Rockford, IL. He and his brother were in a band together. Eventually, he left the band, and they found a replacement. His brother left, and he was replaced.
His brother’s replacement suggested a name change.
“What about Cheap Trick?”
I have a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell.
Immortal comedy sketches aside, I’ve never been too terribly aware of Blue Öyster Cult. So my expectations for Agents of Fortune were a blank slate.
Despite their indelible place in rock and roll history, this is only the second Aerosmith record to pass through my record collection. Their debut, Dream On, came and went without much of an impression.
Toys in the Attic, however, is a much more memorable beast.