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My finals playlist this past semester was weird, guys. Like, really, unrelatably weird.
I mean, sure, last winter, I managed to bring together Brahms & Demi Lovato—admittedly not the world's most readily accessible duo (though I'm now honestly trying to imagine what their collaborations would sound like). But this year, for whatever reason, things just got fundamentally, pathalogically odd. I'm talking multiple-songs-from-musicals, I-admit-to-digging-a-Ke$ha-song odd. Ah, well—the heart (that is, the caffeine-zapped fizzbrain) wants what it wants, I suppose, & these are the songs that happened to echo right across my weary synapses. (Still do, for the most part, as I hack furiously away at my thesis on these icy Bostonian shores—25 pages to go...)
I mean, I really do recommend giving them all a chance, as many are tried & true favorites (see: Pixies). But, to be fair, if you find yourself simultaneously psyched & comforted (the two essentials of any good finals music) by every single one of the songs herein, call me—I think we might be soulmates. Otherwise, pick & choose as you will from this lumpy smorgasbord of a playlist.
Oh, & as to the name: it comes from a dream I had, feverish & sleepless between bouts of paper-writing, in which I was attending a hologram lecture of some famous modernist thinker (whom I'm almost positive I made up). As he was reaching the peak of his speech, I could feel myself waking up, so I did my absolute best to hold on to what he was saying, & as soon as I opened my eyes, I rolled over & scribbled it on the back of a receipt. What I managed to get down: "a scary, changing disrapture of furor."
Does it make the tiniest bit of sense? No. "Disrapture" isn't even a word, as far as I'm aware. Nonetheless, I think it sums up a lot of my general feeling as of late—about academia, about people, about the fact that the world was supposed to end a few weeks ago but then just, you know, didn't, & another year trickled on by. So, without further ado, I bring you:
On the Rise—Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.
Though not a diehard Whedonite, per se, I do have fairly unflinching reverence for several of his creations (see: Firefly, Dollhouse—both of which I watched in their entirety during the week of December 10th), so when I first heard about Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, I thought it only prudent to explore. I'll admit, I wasn't hooked upon first viewing—it seemed little niche, lopsided, over before it really began. But it's the kind of thing that grows on you, I suppose—if only because I found myself spontaneously humming this song as I trudged back & forth from the library, despite not having seen or thought about it in years (perhaps a subconscious grasping toward the villain anthems that so often sustain me in times of crisis).
Cockney Thug—Rusko.
I saw Rusko by accident in my freshman year of college, as the first of four openers at Proxy's first ever US show. (This was just after "Raven" had come out, hence my desire to see live electronica in the first place.) All I remember (as I was not, shall we say, in peak frame of mind at the time) is that I found his set rather boring & his hype man—whose incessant chants of "RUSKO, LET'S GO" will forever be burned into my eardrums—fundamentally annoying. So, in the years that followed, I avoided even the tracks of his recommended to me by friends, having already written him off as unremarkable. Then, a few weeks ago, I accidentally unearthed this song from the depths of my iTunes, & I fell in love. It's nice companion piece to "Biggest Monkey," which I posted back in September—somewhat more amped, but equally flush with slurred British rancor & synth-brass, & therefore rather excellent.
11:11—Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire.
An oldie but goodie—that is, in the life of me. This song haunted my high school playlists, & with good reason: its rolling, wheedling orchestration, that blithely ominous chorus. It's perfect to curl up to—savoring the notion, at once comforting & damning, that the end's coming soon.
Wild World—Me First & the Gimme Gimmes (Cat Stevens cover).
Everything sounds better sped up & punked out, says I—& Cat Stevens is no exception. I mean, sure, the original is threaded through with lovely chords, but I've always found it bit lagging, energy-wise. However, with help from my beloved MF&GG, it becomes the perfect anthem for thrashing away frustration at how hard it is to get by just upon a smile.
The Quartet—The Secret Garden.
[ Note: The actual song starts about 42 seconds in. ]
When I was in 7th grade, my school put on "The Secret Garden" as our winter show: I played the composite choral role of a ghost, a moving piece of ivy, & a maid with one line, of which I was impossibly proud ("Beg your pardon, Doctor—it's Ms. Winthrop, sir"—a show-stopper, I assure you). Though I'm not generally a huge fan of traditional musicals—& this one in particular is a bit odd: austere, antiquated, essentially what you might expect from a faithful adaptation of a novel written in 1910—because it entered my consciousness early, every note clangs with pleasant nostalgia. Moreover, I find this song musically delightful—its four voices intertwining, disparate lyrics overlapping, backed by orchestral surges. Also, for reasons yet unknown, I tend to sing along to it repeatedly, for hours, in times of strife. Real talk.
All the Time—Diamond Rings.
I posted about Diamond Rings recently, I know—but I simply can't get enough of him these days. His songs fall into one of the categories I deem ideal: Smart Dance Music—sounds that genuinely make you want to move paired with lyrics that don't make you feel guilty for knowing all of them. Especially after seeing him live a few weeks ago, I'm more committed than ever—caught up, as I was, in the catharsis of jiving, manic, sweating out academic toxins with every thump of bass.
Alcohol—Gogol Bordello.
Another old favorite—its Romanian strains chugging & asymmetric, Eugene's thickly accented lyrics wrought with hand-wringing (if, at times, ESL-ish) empathy.
Monkey Gone to Heaven—Pixies.
Simply put, the kind of song that makes you glad music happens—that sound waves turn into songs & guitars have the capacity to wail. Doolittle will always explain my brain best.
I Knew You Were Trouble—Taylor Swift.
Yep. T-Swift. Get into it. But really: this song was a staple during my final days in the Eye offices (yes, it's over—stray tear / monumental-sigh-of-relief-cum-fist-pump), & since then, I haven't been able to get it out of my head—nor have I necessarily wanted to. I honestly dig the change-up from quick-strumming guitar to crooked sways of dubsteppian synth, & as usual, Taylor's tale is woefully relatable. On that note, the music video (linked above) is priceless beyond measure—its de facto lesson: never get involved with a man in a porkpie hat & jean vest who spends most of his time standing on things he shouldn't & posing Jesus-like. That, or never dye your hair in a scrubby pink emo gradient. Works either way.
I—Nicola Roberts.
Roberts's more upbeat pop single, "Yo-Yo," made it on to my finals list from this past spring, but this semester, I've found myself drawn to this more subdued number—its slow, thick groove, its hypnotic battery of "I" statements (as the title would suggest). Though on some days I find her Kate-Bush-ian soprano flights somewhat grating, on most I find this oddly confessional track somewhat of an anthem—or, at the very least, a decent jam.
Chum—Earl Sweatshirt.
Tumbling piano riffs, tongue tripping over honest rhymes—everything I loved about "Luper" amplified tenfold. Because sure, there's something sinister to it, but also something kind of lovely.
He Hit Me—Hole (The Crystals cover).
This is one of those songs that you just hate to love—far guiltier than the traditional guilty pleasure, like when you catch yourself singing along to the at once impossibly sexist & impossibly catchy "Under My Thumb." In my mind, this song is even worse message-wise, with its apparent championing of domestic abuse & toxic jealousy—in the neighborhood of "Love the Way You Lie," but without even a modicum of self-awareness. Still, if any voice could do this conflicted masochism justice, it's Courtney Love's—scratchy & worn, tracing the words of an old factory hit & imbuing it with new, sinister significance.
Die Young—Ke$ha.
Say what you will—cast your stones—but it's happening. I genuinely get a kick out of this song. Maybe it's because I find the idea of dancing to death oddly romantic; maybe I lost some small chunk of my mind in this sea of caffeine & verbiage; or maybe it's just that this fucking parasitic chorus has taken root in my brainstem I've since been unable to leech it out. But for whatever reason, I find it compelling—at least enough for a despairing 3 AM lip sync (or five).
—_—_—
Then, towards the end of the chaos, for whatever reason, I started to have a hankering exclusively for women (plus a stray Michael Stipe) singing about death & ghosts. So, though they're not officially part of the list, here's these—a post mortem / Part II, if you will:
Lonely Ghosts—O+S.
The End of the World—Skeeter Davis.
Your Ghost—Kristin Hersh (feat. Michael Stipe).
&, last but certainly not least, a message from the man who singlehandedly got me through many a sleepless night in the final weeks of 2012—& will surely get me through many more as I barrel toward this fast-approaching January 22nd due date:
Happy New Year, y'all.
[ The Year, she has Newed—& the resolutions have thus, well, resoluted. While perched atop a barstool in the back corner of Church, there to man Sidewalk Driver's merch table, having recently been mind-blown by their smashing cover of "Major Tom"—AKA, "Völlig Losgelöst," the (far superior) German version—I scribbled out the following list come 11:58 PM:
In case you can't read my impeccable handwriting, that's: wear more sparkly things, get enough sleep, suck less @ guitar, write more, stop being crazy, exercise semi-regularly, stay resolute
Note that, in a lovely twist of the Universe being how it so often is, "resolute" is the only word that got smudged.
Now, on to—wait for it—my first post in 875,000 years. Get psyched. (I know I am.) ]
For those who have yet to experience the joys of a collegiate Finals Season—or, for those who have since repressed all memories thereof, whitewashing them into halcyon oblivion in an attempt to regain control & general sanity—the process is essentially akin to hefting a large boulder up a down escalator, wearing shoes made of quickly-drying superglue & balancing a stack of plates on your head, while Alex Trebek yells Final Jeopardy questions in your face & shoots at you with a bebe gun every time you hesitate—& all of this, mind you, on absolutely zero sleep. It could not be further from "exciting," "fun," or "productive"—a time to severely overcaffeinate, laugh despairingly at odd intervals, dream up some creative voodoo with which to torment those ever-smiling student-slash-models on the cover of you school's treasonously propagandistic brochure of lies—& yes, accordingly, to whip out some Villain Songs.
Indeed, by the end of that week & a half of hatefully constant verbiage production, I found myself listening almost exclusively to villain anthems from cartoon movies. I think the reasoning behind this is twofold. In the first place, of course, Villain Songs are unfailingly the best in the film, as they are 1) patently, delightfully sinister & 2) campy as a camping ground.
Moreover, when unjustly put-upon & facing Greek tragedy levels of distress, it's not enough to sing in blithely unthreatening major chords about happiness & sunshine & predictably vanquishing evil. No, in times like these, you are at war with the universe & the travails it dared to throw your way—a motherfuckin' monster, a dungeon dragon, a bad bitch who will kick ass, take names, then gladly go back for more. Yes, Nicki has filled this niche in Finals-times past—but this particular bout was beyond the pale, requiring exceedingly evident levels of menace.
Because when facing so daunting a fate, you don't want to save the world—couldn't possibly. You want to rend it from its very frame, to upset & overthrow, not just color outside the lines but burn the book & eat the crayons. & the best way to do this, as it turns out, is to sing about it in a self-aggrandizing, plan-explaining 2-3 minutes of sheer animated badassery—or, at the very least, to sing along.
With that, here is a list of my top 10 Villain Songs for your perusal—to aid in times of Sisyphean stress, or merely, as they were intended, to entertain.
1) In the Dark of the Night (Rasputin, Anastasia).
Line of note: "Terror's the least I can do!"
Combine a vengeful reanimated corpse with a jaunty new-age rock chorus & what you get is holiest of holies, the ultimate conceptual ideal: up-tempo, major-keyed evil. It's the same brain-tickled feeling you get when listening to Morrissey's boppy morbidity—except even better, as it's not merely tongue-in-cheek, it's epic. Plus, in work mode, as endless words flow haphazard from my clumsily puppeted fingertips, I can ride that key-change surge & smirk, Come, my minions, rise for your master...
2) Be Prepared (Scar, The Lion King).
Rhyme of Note: "prizes" / "emphasize is"
Ranking this second was, of course, an achingly close call—because, as explored here before, I have a capital-T Thing for Jeremy Irons, particularly as regards his voice, the brooding rasp of which is showcased perfectly in this, the Platonic Villain Anthem. I mean, "In the Dark of the Night" rightly takes the title—I'm no flip-flopper—but God is this song ideal. Everything from the stretched-drum-tight rhyme scheme (see above) to the ominous trill of bassoon after the casually spat, "No, fool, we're gonna kill 'im"—& that little waver he does on the word "lifetime," the ensuing gleeful voice crack on "sen-sa-tional"... Chills, my friends, for which I don't think I'll ever be adequately prepared.
3) Poor Unfortunate Souls (Ursula, The Little Mermaid).
Line of Note: "...& don't underestimate the importance of body language. Ha!"
This will forever be known, at least in the brain of me, as "the song that made me say non-bile-laced things about the Jonas Brothers"—which you might think would sour me on it somewhat, but which in fact proves the utter & unruinable appeal of one of the most patently fabulous lyrical outlets of villainy around. Of course, it almost couldn't not be, given that the character design for Ursula was based largely on my doppleganger/spirit animal, Divine. Still, the song itself is also brilliantly off-putting—jaunty, jazzily plodding, again making expert use of that bassoon—& the expressive range of Pat Carroll's vocals spells nothing if not Diva, in the most delightful way. Also, you've got to appreciate a movie that has the bad guy (re: the one you're supposed to disagree with) spouting super-sexism (re: the It's she who holds her tongue who gets a man verse)—thus continuing Disney's delightful trend of sneaking strikingly blatant life lessons into catchy tunes. (See also: We don't like what we don't understand—in fact, it scares us—& this monster is mysterious at least, c. "The Mob Song" in Beauty & the Beast.)
4) No More Mr. Nice Guy (Rothbart, The Swan Princess).
Rhyme of Note: "zinged 'em" / "kingdom"
From my all-time favorite kids movie, no contest, no questions asked: The Swan Princess. Truly ideal on every level sonically, as well—a jazz-infused set of couplets declaring, in many creative (& very creatively rhymed) ways, the joys of viletude.
5) Oh, Ratigan (Ratigan et. al., The Great Mouse Detective).
Line of Note: "An even grimmer plot has been simmering in my great criminal brain!" tied with "You're more evil than even you!"
So, my guess is, you haven't seen The Great Mouse Detective. I don't blame you: like The Swan Princess, it was one of those off-brand animations from the mid-nineties that got all but lost amid the shuffle of Disney hits. Still, I highly recommend it, if only because it remained a staple in my VCR, long after it's deemed appropriate for children to obsess over cartoons. Though much of this movie's charm can be found in the non-musical moments—the sly Holmes references, the oddly dark & often actually frightening sequences—this is, indeed, a top-notch Villain Song, wrought with alliteration & pink champagne. Moreover, Ratigan proudly continues my beloved trend of wonderfully fanciful (re: queer as every last folk) villains—a primly accented clotheshorse who fixes his coif before beginning his big number, plucks his own harp for the tragic monologue portion, & proudly keeps a bow-bedecked attack kitten.
6) Prince Ali (Reprise) (Jafar, Aladdin).
Line of Note: "Where were we? Ah, yes: abject humiliation!"
&, speaking of queeny villains... Really, though: in this category, Jafar can't not take the cake. I mean, that eyeliner? Diva, please. Moreover, here he pulls the ultimate in catty villainry: parroting back the hero's main theme with an evil twist—& no small amount of snark.
7) Gaston (Le Fou feat. Gaston, Beauty & the Beast).
Line of Note: "I'm especially good at expectorating!" tied with "I use antlers in all of my decorating!"
This is one of the more fabulously absurd Disney songs around—the "no one x like Gaston, no one y like Gaston" paradigm wearing thin after, say, one or two rounds & quickly devolving into a game of "what can we lyricists get away with" (hence, say, the above mentioned "expectorating" quip). Still good for a giggle after all these years.
8) Mine, Mine, Mine (Governor Ratcliffe, Pocahontas).
Line/Rhyme of Note: "With all you've got in ya boys / dig up Virginia boys!"
Okay, so this Villain Song does get briefly interrupted by Mel Gibson adventuring about, but before & after that unwelcome intrusion, there are dubious rhymes & delusions of grandeur aplenty. Also, I can't help but notice that Ratcliffe bears a striking resemblance to Ratigan—the prim demeanor, the portly frame, the obsession with piles of shiny riches—&, for that matter, even to Ursula, to Jafar... There is a paper to be written here—one that I am 100% sure some grad student somewhere has stashed in their sock drawer.
9) You're Only Second Rate (Jafar, The Return of Jafar).
Line of Note: "You look horrendous in your underwear."
Try, if you can, to ignore the infuriating Robin Williams impersonator & focus on the fact that this is essentially a song composed entirely of capital-S Shade—proving, once again, that Jafar is the most fabulous queen in Disney showbiz, which is why she earns two spots in our countdown. Really, though—everything about the punchy brass & syncopated syntax make this song the ultimate "Oh no she di'int" of cartoon evil.
10) We Hate the Sun (The Duke, Rock-a-Doodle).
Line of Note: A flashlight!
Of course, this song has already made an appearance hereabouts, in service of exemplifying my love of organs in music, but it also functions perfectly well as a somewhat off-brand Villain Song—definitely epic, excellently orchestrated, & capped off with a snooty British accent.
Today's Headphone Fodder:
When not taking in animated villainy, I was busy subjecting my ears to a series of other tunes—what I can safely say is, by far & away, the single weirdest "pump-up" playlist in the history of ever, running the irony-free gamut from Johannes Brahms to Demi Lovato & back again. So, without further ado:
12-17-11: Sisyphean.
[ As usual, click above for the expressly convenient YouTube playlist experience of a lifetime. ]
The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1—Neutral Milk Hotel.
Exquisite Corpse—Hedwig & the Angry Inch.
Everyday I Love You Less & Less—Kaiser Chiefs.
Leeds United—Amanda Palmer.
Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)?—The Buzzcocks.
Commissioning a Symphony in C—Cake.
Y Control—The Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
Jet Boy, Jet Girl—Elton Motello.
Poem to a Horse—Shakira.
She Moves in Her Own Way—The Kooks.
Tranquilize—The Killers (feat. Lou Reed).
Infinity Guitars—Sleigh Bells.
Him Dancing—Throwing Muses.
Shock Horror—The View.
The Wind Blew All Around Us—The Bevis Frond.
Jique—Brazilian Girls.
Girl Inform Me—The Shins.
Drinking Gasoline—Ben Godwin.
Gigantic—The Pixies.
Violin Concerto in D, III—Johannes Brahms.
Take the Skinheads Bowling—Camper van Beethoven.
Superheroes—Ruth's Hat (Rocky Horror cover).
212—Azealia Banks.
The Problem With Saints—Neil Gaiman.
Unbroken—Demi Lovato.
Okay, as to that last song: 1) not gonna lie, it makes for an excellent pump-up lip sync, & 2) when asked "why," followed by several interrobangs, on the ol' BookFace (Spotify, you traitorous snitch...), I provided this retort, which I believe still holds:
There are two possible explanations:
1) Stuck in the especial purgatory of an already-late 7-page analysis of Wagner & Barber as pertains to the Romantic Era, which my body seems to have developed some sort of physical aversion to finishing, I find her blithely despairing pseudo-sinister techno mundanity on mind-numbing repeat a welcome respite from tempo rubato & wheedling violins.
2) Demi Lovato is a genius.
Pick your poison.
Good afternoon, Blogosphere. Time for another faithful cross-post from your favorite (& somewhat heinously active) Eye contributor. (I know, I know—I'll get back to my own profanity-laced Bowie-gushing ASAP—but it's at least cool that these are actually published, right?)
Today, it's a bit more of a blip—some humour, if you will—"Seriously, Mark?: An Open Letter to Mark Zuckerberg." (Because really now: some bonkers shit is going down on the ol' BookFace, & it is patently unacceptable.)
Mark, we need to talk.
First, it was that awkward second location of Chat. Then, you started sorting my friends into these mysterious “Lists.” Soon enough, my every sidebar was filled with bizarre tidbits of information, ranging from the humiliating (e.g., “More Photos of Person You’re Already Shamelessly Stalking!”) to the just plain hateful (believe it or not, I’d rather not be reminded that, on September 23, 2007, I happened to think my lunch was “awesum!! <3”).
Today's Headphone Fodder:
It's perhaps apt that I'm starting with Mr. Zuckerberg, given that his recent portrayal in The Social Network showed us a young man obsessed with exclusivity—with belonging, being "in"—if only because, this past week, I was subject to the rather unpleasant (but, I'm sure, necessary, adult) experience of being turned down for something to which I applied—in layman's terms: being Rejected.
Sure, it sucked, for lack of a more artful expression—but really, in moments like these, one rarely has the requisite drive to be artful, to do anything more than wallow, situated squarely in a Funk (& not the fun "ph-" kind, like Fergie sings about—this is some we know Major Tom's a junkie shit).
Still, there comes a point when enough is enough—when you can't deny that the sun's still rising & personal rainclouds seem increasingly ridiculous—when you have to realize that, honestly now, you are a Grown-Ass Woman (because, regardless of personal gender expression, in this moment, we are all Grown-Ass Women), & it's long past time to scrub off stray eyeliner, pull up your pantyhose, & Make a Fucking Playlist.
So, here it is—for any & all of us who've felt that castaway sting, who've muddled endless through those infamous Five Stages & landed, at last, upon:
Rejected—Flight of the Conchords.
Get Over It—Ok Go.
Wandering Star—Portishead.
Oh! You Pretty Things—David Bowie.
Eleanor Rigby (4 Centers Dubstep Remixxx)—The Beatles.
Shut Me Up—Mindless Self Indulgence.
It's Alright, Baby—Komeda.
The Passenger (Live)—Iggy Pop.
Angeles (Live)—Elliott Smith.
You Oughta Know—Das Racist.
Special—Garbage.
Golden Hours—Brian Eno.
She Hates Me—Puddle of Mudd.
Good Day—The Dresden Dolls.
Your Name is Jake—Dr. Skinnybones. [** Not on YouTube, but FREE-DOWNLOADABLE on BANDCAMP.]
Whip My Hair (Drowning in Blood)—Skull Tape (Willow Smith cover).
It's Not—Aimee Mann.
It Ain't Gonna Save Me—Jay Reatard.
Lithium—Nirvana.
Forest Whitaker—Brother Ali.
Emerge—Fischerspooner.
So What—P!nk.
[ NOTE: Though, of course, these are meticulously organized for your listening pleasure into an 80-minute whole, I would like to single out "Your Name is Jake" by Dr. Skinnybones—not only because it is not, as you may have noted, included in the YouTube playlist—but moreover, because it's a delightful new addition to my collection, a perfect anthem for room-bound slam-dance comebacks. ]
