Flyin' Down I-95, Pocket Full of Dimes

Sexier folks than me have eloquently spoke to something that I firmly believe: That their is no better place for testing out some tunes, for really experiencing an album, than in your car. And there may be no better time to really get into whatever your pumping than when you've got numerous hours and several hundred miles of barren highway stretched out in front of you ("I've got miles to go before I sleep" and all that). This past week, what with the Thanksgiving holiday, I had just such an opportunity, both on the long drive to and from VA to NY, but also in shorter bursts throughout the week (in contrast to VA, where the only driving I do is to work, in NY all I do is driving-- oddly enough, the one place I didn't drive was work). Here's what I learned about my music collection and myself in those lonely hours when all I had to do was keep the gas pedal pushed, keep the eyes on the road, turn the volume up, and lean back with me and my thoughts.

-- I briefly mentioned last week the Fort Minor/Green Lantern mixtape We Major and how surprisingly unawful it was. Well, on the drive up I-95 towards Nueva York, I spent a good portion of the time listening to the official album, The Rising Tied. And you know what? It, too, is not completely awful. In fact, I'll even say it's pretty good. Not great, and probably pretty much forgettable in three to four months (or after the first half dozen spins or so), but not bad overall.

Don't get it twisted: I'm not saying Mike Shinoda is gonna make anyone forget that the executive producer of this album, President Carter, has (at least temporarily) hung up the mic or anything (and Mike, you're telling me that you can get Jay-Z to oversee the project and do voice over drops on the interludes, but you couldn't get a verse? I mean, the man's been dropping verses all over the place, and you couldn't get a 16 from your boy? What up with that?), but at least I didn't feel the urge to laugh out loud like I do everytime I hear his verse on Handsome Boy Modeling School's "Rock and Roll (Could Never Hip Hop Like This) Part 2."

Obviously, if it ain't the lyrics that get the album off the ground, it's got to be the beats, right? And here is where Shinoda comes correct, most of the time. Sure, at times it sounds as if he's channeling the more obvious elements of DJ Shadow through a fitler of Primo 101, with a dash of Linkin Park-esque rock theatrics, but at least it makes for an entertaiing car ride. I particularly enjoyed the boom bap of "Feel Like Home," the twisted G-Funk of "In Stereo," and the blatant Shadow rip off of "Out The Back." And as a history major and armchair historian, I can't write about the album without mentioning "Kenji," which wraps the story of the World War II Japanese internment camps over a head nodding beat.

-- I don't know how I feel about Hypnotize, I think I gotta give it a few more spins. We all know the deal with double albums by now, given that while many have tried (Biggie, 2Pac, Wu Tang, Smashing Pumpkins, Guns 'n Roses, Jay-Z, etc), there has yet to be a truly great double album: Too much filler, could have been cut down to one great single album. And upon first hearing the holy hell fury of Mezmerize, I thought that SOAD had come up with the genius way to sort of sidestep that problem-- drop one brain melter, wait six months until people have been allowed to let that sink in and get tired of, and just when they're not expecting it, peel their caps back again. However, I don't know if Hypnotize holds up it's end of the bargain. Sure, there are some interesting songs and all, but at some point they just sorta run together and begin to sound similiar. While the title track is a fantastic single (I love that opening line-- "Why don't you ask the kids at Tiannamen Square, was fashion the reason why they were there?"), but the album really lacks something like Mesmerize's "Old School Hollywood," which uses its vocoder vocals and new wave inspired instrumentation to differentiate itself from your typical System of a Down Slayer-on-a-speed-binge riffery.

-- In traditional long drive fashion, on a whim I threw in a CD I hadn't listened to in a while and realized that I perhaps underestimated its power. In this instance, the lucky lottery winner was Interpol's Turn On The Bright Lights. Now, I realize that I might just be the only person on the planet who appreciates Antics more than Lights, and I'm not quite sure why that is. Perhaps it's the more polished production and tighter song writing featured on the second album, perhaps its due to the fact that my first few listens of Lights made me think "there are some good ideas here, but alot of these tunes sound like demos of 80% complete tunes," or perhaps its something as simple as the fact that I started to get into Interpol hardcore around the time Antics dropped (I somehow missed the hype wave of the previous two years). None of that is really important... what is really important is that I gained some new respect for the album and it definitely rose considerably in my estimation.

In much the same way that I re-discovered Turn On The Bright Lights almost by accident, in doing so I discovered the perfect musical soundtrack to the montage of this past week, where my life ever to be made into a movie: "NYC," by Interpol.

Allow me to back up for a second, if you will. Whenever I've thought of songs that describe my hometown, almost immediately I point to two: Either "Welcome to New York City" by Killa Cam and Jigga, or Jigga's "Where I'm From." Both tracks embody what I like to think are the traits I value most about the Rotten Apple in my most braggadacious moods-- the attitude, the swagger, the faint aura of invincibility and menacing, know it all superiority. "Welcome To New York City" was the post-9/11 anthem that ruled the NY airwaves during the Summer of 2002 which allowed NYers to puff their chests out and know that it takes a fuck load more to keep us down and out-- "It's the home of 9/11, the place of the lost towers/ We still bangin', we never lost power." It screams of defiance and indomitable will, not just to Osama and Al Queda, but the rest of the nation as well, as if to say "Weaker motherfuckers would have fallen over this shit. Didn't you know this was New fuckin York, mufucka? Its gonna take a lot more to get us on our knees, bitch."

"Where I'm From," one of the few truly stand out tracks from Jigga's largely disappointing sophomore album, has alot of the same feelings in it. It certainly got a lot of playtime during wintery evenings in snowy Ohio, when I wanted to forget about the paper I was writing about but more importantly forget about the fact that I was in the middle of a fucking cornfield. Although I have no knowledge of throwing the grams in the can and running, or wearing vests, or much of anything else that Jay speaks about, yet I can't help but puff out my chest and feel a certain bond with that song, because the grime, the foreboding sheer size of the city and hint of fear that some tourists feel swirling in the air-- all of that bleeds through the song. Biggie may have been hip hop's Sinatra, but this is hip hop's answer to "New York, New York."

But ya know, when you come home, only to realize that "home" really isn't home anymore.... when your bedroom has been converted into a guest room... when you go out in search of thrills and fond reminisces, only to be reminded of why it was that you left in the first place.... it's hard to puff out your chest and scream "Welcome to New York City!" Because for as much fun as I had and as happy as I was to be back in the Greatest Damn State in the Union, I couldn't escape a certain sense of melancholy and bewilderment, a feeling that I was slightly out of step with things, almost like I didn't belong anymore-- and maybe I don't, anymore. And the slow, brooding grooves of "NYC" perfectly captured that mood, so much so that when I first heard it in my car on my way to some bar, I spun it back three times in a row and then I refused to listen to it until I had left the state limits. I almost felt like that by listening to the song, the melancholy tone would seep into me and become a self fulfilling prophecy-- as if by empathizing with the song's tone and lyrics, it would force me into a depression when I really only felt a small feeling of bewilderment and out of sortness.

I'm sick of spending these lonely nights training myself not to care
The Subway is a porno, pavements they are a mess
I know you've supported me for a long time, but somehow I'm not impressed
New York cares (Got to be some more change in my life)
New York cares (Got to be some more change in my life)....

Knock, Knock, Who's There, Killa Cam, Killa Cam -- in San Diego!?

Friends, romans, countrymen-- I do apologize for my long abscence. I had not intended to stay away so long, but your boy has had smiles some smiles and some frowns, some ups and downs along the way, y'all know how it is. I had also intended to post some cuts from the surprisingly not awful Fort Minor/Green Lantern mixtape We Major a few weeks ago, such as Juelz Santana rhyming over "Sweet Child O' Mine" (I shit you not), as well as some hot rhymes laid over the "Banquet" break from my boys Bloc Party, but it's kinda late for that. If you're nice, maybe I'll still consider it.

But anyway.... y'all wanna know why I was really away for so long?

Your faithful friend Dan here has been a little bit depressed. And why, you ask?

Ian has got me depressed. Seriously, I don't know how I didn't discover this dude earlier. The half baked thoughts that fly in and out of my head, the half developed ideas I spit out in two sentences on this blog... dude turns into a fully formed thesis. Seriously... I thought that Simmons or Klosterman were the guiding lights I looked to as far as writing... but damn, this kid makes me want to put the pen down, shut off the laptop, and just give the game up. Kinda like how thousands of dudes in Brooklyn musta put aside their dreams of ever rockin' the mic the first time they heard Biggie spit on some street corner (Actually.... I don't know how true that statement is. Given the level of originality in current hip hop, those same thousands of motherfuckers probably thought "I can get rich if I just bite that fat cat's style!" But I digress...)

First it was this ridiculously blazing hot must read comparison of college football teams and rappers. Or peep this, where he flips an idea I myself discussed, and manages to perfectly capture how my man The Sportsguy has lost his fastball over the last 12-18 months (and sorry Grambo, I love you, and I'm the biggest Simmons fan you'll ever find-- see above-- but dude totally has slipped up. I can practically see dude chilling on the beach in Cali, dictating his columns to his editor over his cell phone while he sips a Corona at this point, but again I digress...) at the same damn time.

But enough dicklicking. What we are really all here to discuss and pontificate is this: Killa Cam's impending departure from Queens.

And yes, on the surface, this is a ridiculous trade for the Mets. But there has to be something understand by all the panicked denizens of Flushing (including my boy Rosie, who loves him some Killa Cam): This trade is only the opening salvo of the offseason.
At the very least, this trade opens up anywhere from $4-6 million dollars in the payroll for the Mets. Money which can be rapidly spun towards Billy Wagner (who the Mets desperately want and is being actively courted next week), Rafael Furcal (in order to have any hope of getting him to come to Queens and switch to second, the Mets will have to outbid everyone else), or to pay for someone like Manny Ramirez or Carlos Delgado.

Not only does it open some room in the payroll, but Nady becomes an inexpensive trade chip. Sure, he's his stock has certainly dropped since a few years ago, when his name was mentioned as one of the best prospects in baseball, but he's still only 27, and don't forget the Petco Park effect. Sure, Shea Stadium is a pitcher's park, but Petco is a hitters graveyard (Want proof? Just look at Brian Giles' stat lines). It is not unreasonable to think that Nady can be a relatively productive fifth or sixth hitter and 1B/RF in Flushing.

And of course, Nady's age, contract, and still present potential make him an ideal trade chip. I could see him packaged with some prospects to Boston for Manny or penny pinching Florida for Delgado.

There's no question that it hurts to see Mike Cameron leaving the Mets. By all accounts, he was the centerpiece of the Mets clubhouse, the guy that kept everyone else laughing and loose. Its not coincidence that the Mets noticably sagged after his horrific collision with Beltran this summer. He was a loyal soldier, moving to RF despite his Gold Gloves in center and playing stellar defense after Beltran took his spot last winter with minimal bitching. Yes, there's no doubt that Killa Cam will be missed.

But this is only the first in what will likely be many of Omar Minaya's mad machinations, as he moves the chess pieces around the board. And I trust Omar Minaya, maybe more so than any GM that the Mets have had since Frank Cashman (admittedly not saying much). This is a man who stole the premier free agent that rightly should have belonged to the hated Yankees (Beltran), who correctly gambled that Pedro would be dominant in the NL (although we'll see if that's the case in 2007 and '08). So, while on the surface Nady for Cameron looks as bad as Kazmir for Zambrano, I have faith.

Faith that Omar knows what he's doing. Faith that in the coming weeks, we're gonna get Billy Wagner. That we're gonna get a stand out catcher. That we're gonna get the big bat we need. That he'll make this work.

I really have no other choice.

Related: Read Faith and Fear in Flushing's take on the trade. Like Jay-Z, they do this in their sleep (although, to my knowledge, they have never sold kilos of coke or CD's).