Desert Island Discourse

The skies are dark across the heartland of the island, as we grieve the sudden death of Tom Petty. It's a strange thing, when a musician whose work you take for granted as a constant source of joy and barroom camaraderie is suddenly taken—it forces you to reflect on just how much you came to love them. So its in that spirit that Max and Andrew have come together to celebrate America's most jangly and least litigious musical genius, Tom Petty (& his ever loyal Heartbreakers). It's our first and perhaps only episode examining a greatest hits compilation, but we think it's worth it here, both as a means of approaching the breadth of his work and as a showcase for the incredible pop craftsmanship he showed throughout his career. So please join us on this genuine and enthusiastic celebration of Tom Petty, the one musician who it is literally impossible to hate, don't even try. Also: a brief preview of our Deftones episode, Desert Island Discourse's official stance on serial killers, and the new global standard for measuring Joy.

Music:

American Girl

Don't Come Around Here No More

Did you hear? Twin Peaks is back! Or it was. It's gone now. But dammit if Desert Island Discourse isn't dedicated to stretching out nostalgia way past the bounds of what is good and reasonable. To that end, this week we're branching out a bit, examining the Julee Cruise album Floating Into the Night and, by extension, the TV show that made such great use of its music—Twin Peaks. One of us has been obsessed with both for years, and the other was only exposed to either in the past few months, but somehow we find common ground in the love we share for this pristine slice of strange, reverb-laden dream pop, and its equally strange televised cousin. Also: the possible origin of fuckboys, Andrew's irrational hatred of tote bags, and the remarkably well-casted content of Deputy Andy's Balls

Everybody loves the Beatles, right? Well not on this island—we're as contrarian as ever here, mostly considering the legendary rock band with a meh and a hand wave. So in our typical iconoclastic style, we are jumping right over any discussion of the Beatles as a band to talk about the far more weird and ranging solo albums that the members released in its wake. From the homespun pop of McCartney's solo debut to the schizophrenic art-pop of Lennon's last album, the genre-diversity at the core of the Beatles was completely indulged in, for better and for worse. But which of the lovable lads from Liverpool will steal our 60's hating hearts? Hint: it's not Ringo. Also: cheese factors, the uncanny valley of repetition, and all our thoughts on God.

I have a confession to make, Deserteers, on this, the eve of our Beatles solo album episode: I have never listened to a John Lennon album. Due to a combination of apathy, youthful iconoclasm, and a deep-seated hatred of blue-eyed soul, I have managed to avoid his storied solo career for nearly three decades now. But that all changes today (well, technically a month ago, but play with me here), as, with the steady guidance of eccentric musicologist extraordinaire James Eidson, I venture to listen to his legendary album Plastic Ono Band for the first time. And what better way to first encounter a record than by drinking PBR and talking over it? Over the course of one full album play, we discuss John Lennon's checkered past and the strange critical reputation of Plastic Ono Band in our classic aüdio vérité style, so you can hear every off-handed comment and argument about beer consumption. Also: terrible portraits of James Schuyler, the similarities between Dara Wier and Yoko Ono, and how Harry Nilsson is actually amazing, jeez James, come on.

Can you believe we've been trapped on this album nearly half a year, and never once discussed the beach or its titular boys? Well it's about damn time we rectified that. So, with the help of return castaway/bearded bundle of joy Andy McAlpine, we're going to take on one of the most legendary discographies we've yet encountered—The Beach Boys. The weird and wild world of the Wilson brothers is full of classics and clunkers, and on this episode we're running the gamut of both, with a selection of albums ranging from the pure pop pleasures of The Beach Boys Today! to the lo-fi depths of Smiley Smile. In the process, we learn a lot about the glossed over depths of this band, the joys of life before and after Pet Sounds, and, of course, the epic heights of "Bull Session with 'Big Daddy'". It's one of our most epic and wide-ranging episodes yet, ending in a thrilling duel of Smiles. Also: the world's greatest box set, sausagefests, and the perks of eating John Stamos.

In preparation for the sunny onslaught of our upcoming Beach Boys episode, we take a moment to discuss the troubled, oft-ignored beach brother—Dennis Wilson. Responsible for the surf vibes that permeated their early albums, the hard living beach bum of the family released the first solo album of the group, Pacific Ocean Blue, and was working on another (Bambu) when he tragically died in 1983. We're talking about both today, as we examine these flawed yet fascinating tracks, shot through with a darkness and pathos that the Beach Boys only hinted at. It's a brief episode about one man's personal dissolution, although we somehow still find time to take jabs at the second best drummer in Foo Fighters. Also: suffocating prospectors, Andrew's empty tummy, and the puzzling state of the Depeche Mode fandom.

Welcome back, punks and punkettes! We've received yet another castaway on the island, drummer and punk rock dad extraordinaire Chris Pagnani, and we're welcoming him the only way we know how—with spiky hair and outdated weed references. That's right, we're covering those west coast bad boys made good, Green Day! From their earnest and humble beginnings through multiple cries of "sellout!" and all the way to their millennial political makeover, we cover the career of one of music's most enduring punk institutions and, in the process, learn a little about ourselves. Also: auditory tattoo tours, sudden births, and Fuck Time.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Genderqueers: it is going down. Ever since they heard our lukewarm treatment of King of Limbs back in the Radiohead episode, the Walnut Desk boys have been itchin' for a fight with your Desert Island pals to defend its honor. And on Saturday the weird fishes finally came home to roost, in a raucous hour of...well, actually rather civil conversation. Andrew even warmed up to the album a little. But will three good-natured bearded men be enough to convince Max that King of Limbs isn't actually Radiohead's worst album? Stay tuned for the thrilling answer! Also: DrummersTM, the pathos of Korn scatting, and Phil?!

Well we've made it folks—Desert Island Discourse has hit episode 25. And now that the island is officially old enough to rent a car, we figured the best way to celebrate is with our favorite bunch of screaming, pseudonymic songsmiths: Animal Collective. As one of the first bands that opened up Max and Andrew's baby brains to the wonders of weird music, Animal Collective has long held a sweet, unique place in our hearts. So of course our attempt to trace their lineage from weird pop solo project to, uh, weird pop group project (with a lot of strangeness in between, we promise) resulted in a full two hours of gushing, tangents, and terrible, terrible puns, as well as the most insufferable installment of "Pitchfork Said it Worst" yet. Also: Max learns the difference between Blues Traveller and Collective Soul, Andrew throws foil at a cat, and we learn Avey Tare's secret recipe for almond butter.

Welcome to the first B-Side of our brand new schedule! You're gonna be seeing a lot more of these from us now, so it's fitting that we start with one of the best albums we'd never be able to cover otherwise: the Neutral Milk Hotel classic In The Aeroplane, Over The Sea. In the process, we examine its legacy and give a platform to Andrew's Anne Frank-less interpretation of an album that's so entrenched with lore and history that it's hard to remember how great the songs themselves are. It's a rambling conversation full of surprises, for an album that deserves nothing less! Also: horrible singing, jerky old friends, and the humble origins of Desert Island Discourse.