The Rentals, Califone and the Hold Steady

Albums Purchased

The Rentals – Return of the Rentals

Califone – Quicksand/Cradlesnakes

The Hold Steady – The Hold Steady Live at Fingerprints

To the casual observer this will looks like a direct rip off of Nick Hornby's lovely rendition that he runs on books for the Believer. And, in many ways, casual observer, you are spot on. However, as far as exorcizing and exercising demons goes there is a little if no finer means of conveying a point. Or, from a simpler perspective, it is a means of me justifying my Saturday ritual of a cup of coffee and going to the record store to listen to albums.

Saturday was a productive day in which the ageless battle of Self v. the Kipple in My Bedroom continued. The good news is that hats from all thirty teams in baseball (even the Bitch Sux) hang in my room, co-habitating the walls with the excellent worded phrase my sister had framed for me “Fuck off you Fucking Fucker”.

Matt Sharp’s classic The Return of the Rentals was of no little help during this process. This album was picked up as Friends of P. has been dinging around in my noggin the past several weeks and needed to be taken out for a walk. A good album that seems dated now but in that enjoyable sense of dating where it feels like the album is easy. The nostalgia helped even when I pounded my thumb in lieu of hitting the head of the nail.

I found Califone’s Quicksand/Cradlesnakes in Cheapo’s gently used section and feeling the impulse so I scooped it up. Experimental music has never been a genre that I have glommed onto however the folksy guitar that lead singer Tim Rutili brings with him from Red Red Meat and Ugly Casanova proves a worthy addition to my Sunday morning, impromptu leaf raking session. As art so often mimics life: when I was done raking, more leaves had fallen and I found a lot of work had presented itself and that the album would take a few more spins before I loved it.

At times I feel vindicated in my purchase when Rutili mimics Ryan Adams, like with Vampiring Again. Then, just as quick, I feel like a rube that bought the album for a quick music fix with Cat Eats Coyote.

Curling also kicked off this weekend. These events always lead to great fear and loathing as inevitable failure is recognized from the get go. Keeping with my strict regimen of maintaining peak physical condition and athletic grace, I consumed a good amount of aiming fluid prior to hitting the ice and a doctor recommended allotment of The Hold Steady Live at Fingerprints.

There are few finer things in the world than walking down Selby with your ears on; when you feel that sort of homecoming in beauty and melodies and absolute perfection. You may never be able to go home again but you will never rub the scar off. Listen to Craig Finn play storyteller as he spins songs out of headphones. You walk past old haunts like Costello’s, the Blair Arcade and the Hanging Gnome and feel like your with an old friend.

Last, here are the two songs that twisted my week.

Our Hell, by Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton, is a beautiful song to begin with but also a slick video. Stripped bare from most of her band Metric, Haines uses her stream of conscious lyrics in a stark, laconic melody. This is not to be confused with her fellow Canadian Feist but more with the adventurousness of a Jenny Lewis without the pop sensibilities of Rilo Kiley.


Staying in Ontario but moving North and East are the Junior Boys. 80’s synthesizers should be avoided, however the Junior Boys make it work. This is helped by the video, of Under the Sun, making me wax nostalgic for those perfect Chicago afternoons but also by the absolute chill of it. Simplistic and, yes, remeniscint of when Zuul succeeded and Gozer showed up but… shit, now I’m telling you about the twinkie.