Desert Island Discourse

WE'RE BACK Y'ALL! The long national crisis that was Barenaked Ladies is now firmly in our rearview mirror, and we're blazing into the future with two of our favorite things in the universe: Andy McAlpine, and The Replacements.

Do we even need to introduce The Replacements? Few bands have ever come close to matching the hooks, hedonism, and heart of these lovable lads from Minneapolis. From their raw punk beginnings to their sad, folky denouement, The 'Mats produced an incredible stretch of music that was at worst fascinating and at best utterly transcendent, cementing their legacy as one of the greatest bands of all time. We literally don't know anyone who hates them—even Christgau liked them sometimes, and he's an actual monster.

So with the help of bearded bundle of joy Andy McAlpine, we recorded nearly two hours of almost entirely ecstatic power pop discourse. It's literally the exact opposite of talking about Barenaked Ladies. We think you'll like it. Also: dumb coke stories, brief returns to hell, and Bill.

Listeners, it's been a bad month. We're in distress, and we need a caress. So what do we get? Well, sleepless nights, to be honest. But also one of the world's best "greatest hits" albums: Singles Going Steady by The Buzzcocks.

The Buzzcocks occupy a weird place in Punk orthodoxy. They're considered the progenitors of pop-punk, and have been covered by world-renowned sellouts like The Offspring and Green Day (bands that, incidentally, we love). But they were also there from the very beginning, their first ep is one of the most legendary DIY releases in the medium, and Kurt Cobain brought them on their last tour. If you want to look at them through the lens of "credibility", you have your work cut out for you.

But this is Desert Island Discourse, where we believe two things: that credibility is for losers, and that The Buzzcocks are better than The Beatles.

After founding member and incorrigible suffragette Howard Devoto left the band to start post-punk weirdos Magazine, Pete Shelley took over primary songwriting duties and turned The 'Cocks into some of the finest popsmiths in any genre, releasing a string of legendary singles that, in a just world, would've been number one hits the world over. And while the three albums they released before their initial breakup are all good in their own right, it's those singles that really cement their skills in the genre.

On their own, they're fantastic, crystalline blasts of hyperactive, open-chord melody. Collected altogether on Singles Going Steady, they become a convincing argument that Pete Shelley is one of the most underrated songwriters in rock music. It's (mostly) pure pop perfection, and a kind reminder of what "hooks" are supposed to sound like after a full month of terrible pain.

You can see how baffled we are, learning what good music is again, so this episode also doubles as a document of us slowly emerging back into the light. Take our hands, and join us in the sun. Also: Fortnightly Fuckabouts, The Ol' Diggle n' Dial, and Baby Bjork.

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert... near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal these words appear:

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

In spite of what our last (and next) episode might lead you to believe, Canada is capable of producing good music. In fact, in the early oughts, fully 98% of all indie rock was imported from the Great White North, in strict defiance of America's foreign policy at the time. And to prove it, this week we're taking on one of Montréal's finest one-album wonders, The Unicorns. 

Their death-obsessed first (and only) album, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?, is still an utterly unique artifact in music, filled with songs that combine the sheer hook-tossing ADD of Guided by Voices with the proggier impulses of Fiery Furnaces. Their compositions often completely eschew the verses and choruses that have long been the cornerstones of pop music, instead drifting thematically through different catchy passages until you end up somewhere far away from where you started, confused and dazzled. The partnership of Nick Diamonds (née Nick Thornburn), Alden Ginger (née Alden Penner), and later J'aime Tambeur (née Jamie Thompson) was one of the most unique and mind-blowing in indie music.

Unfortunately, their fatalistic songs and album title proved prescient—the band broke up acrimoniously two years later, beaten down by the rigors of touring and deteriorating interpersonal relationships. They put out one more EP before cracking up, but 2014 was terrible and we all prefer to ignore it. As of 2018, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone? remains the sole defining document of this one-of-a-kind musical relationship (we're going to pretend their first two demos don't exist either).

But their legacy lives on, and while The Unicorns remain curiously underrated among the other alumni of the Montréal Gold Rush of '04, those who believe, who truly believe, continue to sing their praises. And on this island, we're nothing if not believers.

Also: cozy coffins, bad Ian Malcolm impression, and how to literally emasculate the masculine.

I guess this is just a tradition now. Last April Fools, we decided to play a prank on ourselves by covering a terrible band that became a joke on someone else's terms. This April Fools, we're covering a band that wanted to be a joke, but also serious, and failed at both, while still being wildly successful. This week, we're covering the first half of the discography of Canada's greatest musical crime: Barenaked Ladies.

If you're American, you probably know Barenaked Ladies as the "chickety china" guys, thanks to the breakout success of "One Week." But in Canada, they actually have a hugely devoted fanbase, dating all the way back to the incredible success of their first album, Gordon. To this day, you can find both diehard enthusiasts and actual critics earnestly praising and defending their work. Millions of people love this band.

We do not. We didn't go into this band hating them—neither of us really listened to them before, and we were hoping to find some hidden gems and surprises in their impressively lengthy discography. But after this first eight album stretch, which covers everything from their indie debut Gordon up to their musical Shakespeare collaboration As You Like It, left us thoroughly broken. We stared into the void, and learned too much. We've crossed the rubicon here, folks. See for yourself just how deep this rabbit hole goes.

Also: we pick yet more ill-advised fights with famous writers, discuss getting "Shrekked", and put out our first ever reviewer mixtape (check it out below the fold)!

It’s been a little over a year since our Mount Eerie episode, but more importantly, it’s been a little over a year since the release of A Crow Looked at Me, Phil Elverum’s bleak, uncomfortably direct meditation on the death of his wife, Geneviève Castrée. And in a way the period of time since that work…

Oh God. They did it. The bastards finally did it. We're doing the Rolling Stones. 

Which is a bit of a departure for us. We've been vocal about our distaste for the classic rock songs of the 60's and 70's, to the point where we avoided long-time Rolling Stones adversaries The Beatles by hitting their solo albums instead. But this was a direct request from ever-popular recurring guest Caroline Rayner, and when the prospect of bringing on both her and her partner/long-time friend of the island/driest of dry-wits Caroline Stewart, it sounded too fun to resist.

So don't worry Stones fans—this episode won't just be Max ranting about how much she hates British blues (although there's plenty of that). Caroline and Caroline are the best kind of fans—conflicted, self-aware, and still incredibly enthusiastic for a bunch of old white dudes even in the face of all opposition and reason. And with their expert tutelage, we're taking on what's often considered the prime swath of the Rolling Stones discography: Aftermath through to Exile on Main Street. 

It's the era when a bunch of mop-topped blues-devotees finally started writing their own goddamned songs, embarking on a journey that would take them through sitar jams, sweet folk, and a psychedelic phase before doubling down on their blues roots for a stretch of critically acclaimed albums that are still held up as the best of their genre by 90% of rock critics.

For Max and Andrew, such a trip is akin to Dante's descent through hell. But hopefully, with the help of the Carolines, this episode will be an equally monumental work of literature. If nothing else, we got some real good chants out of it.

Also: Andrew professes his love of watersports, Max debuts her new perfume, and the Carolines eat some real bad chili.

The latest episode of our ongoing "Catching Up!" series is here, and this time I think we can be forgiven for dropping the ball. When we first covered The Breeders with cover artist Haley Thompson way back in Episode 16, it had been over 9 years since their latest album. Of course, we should've known that that's just a typical album interval for the Deal sisters, as proven by the release of their fifth album, All Nerve, earlier this month.

For a certain kind of Breeders fan, this is a momentous occasion, as its the first album recorded by the original Last Splash lineup (not the Pod lineup, presumably because Tanya has a Belly reunion to plan) since, well, Last Splash. And while that was nearly 26 years ago, you'd never know it to hear this latest blast of warm, salty Breeders charm. All Nerve is an album that reminds you of everything you love about The Breeders—their casual élan, complex-yet-catchy chord structures, and goofily surreal lyricism—while still avoiding the trap of just re-treading old ground. In short, it's fantastic, which is why we had such a great time recording this day-time episode—and why our original picks have changed by the end.

Also: Max starts becoming Andrew, Andrew learns how vinyl works, and we discover the shocking connection between Solid Snake and The Shangri-Las

It's sort of a sad occasion that brings this episode to you, dear listeners: as of about a week ago (when this episode was recorded), it's been 8 years since Mark Linkous died outside of his new Nashville home. As the singer, songwriter, and often sole member of Sparklehorse, Mark left behind him a legacy of curiously underrated music that nonetheless meant a lot to those who were fortunate enough to hear it. Today, we bring on Caroline Rayner to help us celebrate his life and work.

Born from the ashes of a failed music career in LA, Sparklehorse made the kind of indie rock that you'd usually find in the holds of wrecked steamboats or haunting ancient attics, combining deft pop sensibilities with a deep love of broken things, junk, and detritus. You're often as likely to hear a toy plastic saxophone as a scorching guitar riff on his songs, and it's all put together with a genuine enthusiasm and pathos that keeps it from devolving into the sort of kitschy cuteness that such descriptions often evoke. 

Over fifteen years, Sparklehorse released four albums (and one collaboration with Danger Mouse and David Lynch), many of which were so good that they inspired a lifelong devotion from a young Max and college-aged Caroline, both of whom spend the vast majority of this episode frantically enthusing about the beauty, sadness, and hope in this immensely enjoyable music (Andrew, meanwhile, brings the newcomer's perspective in that irresistibly Andrew way of his). It's a heartfelt episode that comes from a dear place, and somehow Uncle Kracker comes up anyway. We hope you enjoy it.

Also: Caroline becomes a tough-skinned bitch, Andrew takes Frank Capra to task, and Max finally snaps at these damn kids.

Music:

Dead Opera Star

Weird Sisters

Rainmaker

Spirit Ditch

Cow

Pig

Sick of Goodbyes

Ghost of His Smile

Sunshine

Chaos of the Galaxy/Happy Man

Gold Day

Piano Fire

Dog Door

Sea of Teeth

Shade and Honey

It’s Not So Hard

Ghost in the Sky

Just War (feat. Gruff Rhys) – Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse

Star Eyes (I Can’t Catch It) [feat. David Lynch] – Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse

Maria’s Little Elbows

Comfort Me

Saturday

Happy Place

At this Desert Island Discourse, we always strive to make our episodes as thorough and complete an examination of an artist's discography as possible (broader surveys notwithstanding). However, so many of our favorite artists are rebellious sorts who care not for our mission, and continue to release excellent albums after we've recorded. So in an effort to keep up with their output, every so often we'll be releasing B-Sides to talk new albums released by artists we've already covered. We're calling it "Catching Up With..." because we are unimaginative hacks. First up: Catching Up With the Mountain Goats

This is really all our fault—Goths, the most recent album from John Darnielle and company, came out only a month after we recorded those episodes, and we knew it was coming. But we were younger, more impatient castaways back then, and simply could not wait. And it's a shame, because Goths isn't just a great album, but an album that adds new context to the Mountain Goats discography as a whole, solidifying what seems to be a great, golden, experimental era. Which, really, is only appropriate for a record of jazzy pop songs about Gene Loves Jezebel. Also: we discuss our long, ambling paths to grave, offer a peek behind the kimono, and come up with a really great idea for the next Mountain Goats album, seriously John, call us, it's gold.