The Discographies Project
In The New Yorker, Colin Marshall writes:
I’ve made a daily habit of listening to “old” music—music by artists who began their careers in the nineteen-sixties and have made the largest, most obvious marks on popular culture. Working my way through their entire studio discographies, I take one album per week and play it once every day, straight through. This method (which I used most recently to navigate the nearly half-century-long catalogue of David Bowie) requires both an obsessive streak and a certain degree of patience: the studio albums of Dylan alone, which number thirty-nine as of this writing, took up most of a year.
I’m giving this a try. Marshall’s version of old music is a little limiting — I don’t think we need to stick entirely to the ‘60s and ‘70s rock canon — but I’ll own that I have decided to start with the Beatles. I’ve heard the hits because they’re impossible to avoid, but I haven’t spent any time with the catalog. So here goes.
Two weeks in, I’m happy to report that the Beatles are pretty good! Ha. I enjoyed Please Please Me and With the Beatles has been fun, too. I’m looking forward, though, to diving into the classic records. I have never heard Revolver, Rubber Soul, or Sgt. Pepper’s, all of which are still up ahead. My favorite song so far? “Please Mr. Postman,” which is not a song by the Beatles. It’s a great cover, though!
I’ll report back on the rest of the Beatles’ discography once I’m done, which I think will be the first week of February. What’s after that? We’ll see! I have Lauryn Hill penciled in, but I might go OutKast instead. I have time to figure things out.
What I Read in October 2023
October is a strange month. On the one hand, it always feels like something new to me. I celebrate my birthday (quietly, I don’t like to make a big deal out of it) and look toward the next year, excited to see what will come. At the same time, fall in Duluth gets cold quickly and October very much means The End, the point where we all go hibernate until April. It’s confusing, is I guess what I’m saying. Climactic and temporal confusion are fine, though, if I get to read. And read I did. It was magnificent.
31 for 31
I’m turning 31 this year, a number I have a surprising number of feelings about. In recognition, if not celebration, of the occasion, please enjoy 31 songs from 1992. 31 for 31. No, these songs don’t represent 1992 perfectly. I hope, though, that they capture some of what made that year compelling and complicated musically. I also hope they capture some of what I love about the music of 1992. There’s a little metal, though little of it from bands in their prime. (Bolt Thrower is probably the exception there. Or Darkthrone?) There's a little rap, a little R&B, a little country, one song from a musical. There’s a little bit of everything, I suppose. That’s what I want, I think. A little bit of everything with a solid dose of decent riffs thrown in for good measure. Horns up and, as self-congratulatory as this is, here’s to (at least) 31 more years, to more music and complication and wonder.
What I Read in September 2023
I wrote this month’s entry while eating mochi cake in a coffee shop. It was very nice to have the bustle around me. I am not usually a person who absolutely must write around people, but equally I do not need things to be perfectly quiet. Today, though, I enjoyed thinking about books with my cake and tea while listening to the Kirill Gerstein recording of the Busoni piano concerto. It was perfect. Call it silly if you want! I had a great time. As a person who works in higher education, I find early fall to be a very stressful time. Cake, tea, music, and time to write are balms in the face of this busy time of year. I hope that you, if you also find this time of year to be a stressful one, can also find your cake, your tea, your music, and your time to write, whatever those may be to you.
What I Read in August 2023
Happy September! I did not read a lot this last month, but it was a great month for music, music, music. My wife and I saw Bon Iver to kick things, then caught Brandi Carlile and Kamelot to end it. Each show was truly great, but I have a special place in my heart for Kamelot, a band I’ve wanted to see for nearly 15 years. They were fun in a way only power metal can be fun, all bluster and drama in the service of lyrics that make very little sense. It’s theater with guitars and the odd scream. Who wouldn’t want to spend their time at a show like that?