The CMJ Music Marathon descends upon New York City a little later than usual this year, kicking off on Halloween and running through November 4.  The first round of announcements about performers has just been made.  Look forward to catching the Black Keys, Suzanne Vega, White Whale, Hot Chip, Madlib, Keren Ann, Cloud Clut, Portastatic, Ben Lee, Deerhoof, Joseph Arthur, and many others.

Amos Lee’s first album hinted at something special, but Supply and Demand is masterful. Amos’s eye for the details of everyday life and the way those details put the heart at perpetual risk is what gives his music its foundation. But it’s the melodies that keep you coming back. From the ironically rapturous “Shout Out Loud” to the devastating “Careless,” Amos sees loneliness as his Everest, and we hike up it with him because there’s always a chance that true love (or at least understanding) might be around the next bend. The trek is perilous but the view is spectacular.

We saw Amos last night at Town Hall in New York City. He’s become a superbly self-confident performer, and he had the audience in his palm. Honesty is a large part of his appeal–he’s authentic and he never panders. About half of the songs were new, and all got the same rousing response from the adoring fans. My favorite was “Night Train” from the new album. He shared with us that its arrangement came together on a beach with his band moments after he’d written it in a hotel room in France. All four players sang on it and it soared. Here’s the version of “Night Train” from Supply and Demand:

The most autobiographical song on the new record is “Careless.” If you’ve ever been disappointed in love by a close friend, you’ll relate to this one:

Amos says he wrote “Freedom” about something he witnessed in the halls of his high school, but the words are universal and feel like they’re about a much larger truth.

–Sean Coakley

Though we’ve had our fair share of great protest music coming out of the U.S. in the past year–Michael Franti and Spearhead’s Yell Fire!, Neil Young’s Living with War, “God Bless America” by James McMurtry–a lot of the best examinations of stateside politics and policies have come from overseas.

Ever since her U.K. debut, Burning Dorothy (released when she was just 17), Thea Gilmore has been willing to speak her mind, and she’s got a rare gift for commentary and articulation. On her new record, Harpo’s Ghost–her seventh, if we’re counting–she offers up “We Built a Monster,” which can either be interpreted as a meditation on patriotism and the American behemoth or on the globalization of consumerism. What’s remarkable is that, read either way, it’s a razor-sharp song, which can only suggest that the duality was Thea’s–and co-writer Mike Scott’s–intent. Check out “We Built a Monster”:

Or, if you’re looking for 3 minutes of pop solace in a mad, mad world, try “Call Me Your Darling”:

I also like the turns in “Cheap Tricks”:

–Melanie Shrawder

There are lots of terrific songs on Anne McCue’s new record, Koala Motel. I didn’t fall in love with the whole album on first listen, but after a few times through, I really absorbed the songs, and found them remarkable for their unusual range and depth. It seems like these days, I have an Anne McCue song in my head about half of the time. And it’s rare for a new record to resonate with me so quickly.

None of Koala Motel’s songs have touched me quite like “Bright Light of Day.” In it, Anne turns the bedraggled traipse I’ve always known as “the walk of shame” into an opportunity for reflection.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, a walk of shame is something you might find yourself doing on the morning after a hook-up. (Yes, that kind of hook-up: go to party or bar, meet someone you like, have a few drinks, discover that you like him even more, and end up going back to his place for the evening. Er, night.)

Notice that I say “him,” not “him or her.” Because here’s the truth: the walk of shame is a uniquely female experience. Men lucky enough to find themselves in this situation walk home whistling and clicking their heels. Women, on the other hand, second-guess themselves. And while they’re busy beating themselves up, the morning sun is shining, cars are whizzing by, and little old ladies are passing them on neighborhood streets. It’s hard not to feel like you’re wearing the evidence when you see the glare of your tank top’s sequins, the sheen of your miniskirt’s leather, and the holes in your fishnets while passing the shop windows.

Somehow, Anne puts a reflective twist on all of this:

In my long dress, my high heels, my
fancy stockings
I was walking home from a long night…
In the bright light of day.

Will you love me?
Will you dare?
When I see you again will I even care?

For most, memories of walks like this are shrouded in embarassment. But Anne manages, through the sweetness of her melody and the clarity of her voice, to color the experience with the muted hues of nostalgia. Hear “Bright Light of Day” for yourself:

Check out some of my other Anne McCue faves, too:
“Hellfire Raiser”

“From Bakersfield to Saigon”

–Melanie Shrawder

Keith Olbermann (Countdown, MSNBC) has become the best commentary writer and purveyor on TV. He speaks for many who are outraged over what goes on in Washington and elsewhere under the guise of keeping us safe. On the 5th anniversary of 9/11, he shocked me with his honesty and deserved outrage over the utter inadequacies and blatant missteps of the Bush administration since that fateful day, lambasting them for their inability to make this country more secure, and for their failure to shepherd the process of rebuilding anything at all–whether it be functional space or a memorial–at Ground Zero. Then he came back two weeks later with a commentary about former President Bill Clinton’s now-infamous discussion with Fox’s Chris Wallace, “…a monkey posing as a newscaster…” and President Bush’s new tactic of blaming his predecessor for 9/11. It’s astonishing, and it’s exactly what we need to be hearing right now.

You might also be interested in seeing a prior commentary about Donald Rumsfeld.

Click the links above to watch any of the videos, if you missed the commentaries the first time around. Looks like it might be time to start TiVoing Countdown…

–Sean Coakley

His hair is still thick and wavy, his voice strong and clear, he plays piano with the same fire and energy and never missed a note, but I don’t think he’s a killer (anymore). Jerry Lee Lewis had the stoop of a septuagenarian as he shuffled on and off the stage several times during a four hour PBS-special taping Thursday evening in NYC. He forgot lyrics, skipped verses, stepped on solos, and was the reason why his band ended up doing each song 2 or 3 times. But don’t think for a minute that the audience minded—the repetition was an utter delight. If seeing Chris Isaak sing “Somewhere over the Rainbow” with Jerry Lee was sweet once, twice was heaven.

Isaak wasn’t the only guest artist to take the stage alongside Lewis for a few songs during the night. The line of luminaries was impressive, indeed: Don Henley, Solomon Burke, Ron Wood (who melted into the house band and never left stage again), Norah Jones, Buddy Guy, Tom Jones, and Kid Rock. Jimmy Rip, the producer of Lewis’s new duets album, Last Man Standing (Artists First), was the on-stage musical director and acoustic guitar player. He was integral, moved things along, and kept Jerry focused (which appeared to be a big job). Jim Keltner dictated the pace on the drums and was one of several master house band musicians who created the perfect backdrop for magic.

If you’ve never had a chance to do it, I can tell you: attending a taping for television is an experience in itself. There are headset-clad dark-costumed people scurrying around, herding audience members here and there in order to avoid getting hit in the head with the swooping boom camera. Others crouch to the floor, guiding wires and cords to safe havens while making sure that no one trips. And, as I alluded to before, TV’s about getting it right. So there’s plenty of repetition, repetition, repetition.

It was a good crowd. The first two rows in front of the stage were filled with rented beautiful people young enough to be Lewis’s grandchildren. (This particular group was from Project Runway). I was in the first row of “real fans,” some dressed in ’60s garb, many industry types, other musicians. Though the taping took four hours, no one left early. In fact, though there were tables and chairs in the back, most of us were standing. We stayed because we were enchanted and amazed.
I keep remembering great moments, like Buddy Guy and Ron Wood trading guitar licks ten feet in front of me, or Norah Jones sing perfect harmony to Jerry Lee’s “My Cheating Heart.” The legendary Solomon Burke’s slot was early in the program. Once seated in his throne and ready to go–he’s a little too big these days to stand for long–Lewis asked for the first line of the song. Rip tried to help by feeding him the lyric, but Jerry Lee snapped back quickly with: “That’s not right”. Solomon wasted no time, quipping: “Yeah. But can you make it work?” I bet the Project Runway kids felt right at home.

–Louise Coogan