Related Recs

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you should make a "heard in the wild" playlist

“I haven't found any music in a while.” This is something people say to me fairly often. Friends, family, even other musicians. Curious, this line of thinking, in an era of total comprehensive availability. Every song written since the dawn of creation, just a quick search away - the cannon at your fingertips and yet...  Maybe it’s a conundrum of choice. Maybe you’re like me, standing in the shampoo aisle at CVS, thinking to yourself, “Okay, I understand intellectually that I’m looking at colorful plastic tubes of post-capitalist chemical gloop, all of which serve a nearly identical purpose. I understand intellectually that the architecture of this moment is deliberate, that the sheer volume of product is meant to make me feel as though this decision matters greatly. I understand intellectually that in fact, this decision doesn’t matter in the slightest, and yet, here I stand, staring, “shopping.” Author’s Note: Please allow me to check my privilege here. I am lucky to possess what I have been told is “easy hair.” I wash it maybe once a week, and I am plagued by zero scalp-centric struggles. I do not wish to offend any readers by calling their post-capitalist gloops post-capitalist gloops. If you need a specific gloop to keep your noggin tip-top, I levy neither judgment nor verdict. I may be more empathetic to your plight than you imagine- I am exceedingly particular about deodorant. Rite Guard makes a very good gloop. And so, I step warily forward toward total personhood by way of scalpal salvation, and I pause. “This time you’ve gone too far,” rasps over the pharmacy speakers, a warm, familiar gravel to the sung phrase. No matter- important choices are to be made. Labels must be read and considered- words like jojoba and keratin could be the keys to finding meaning in this life, so we must think carefully! And then, another pause. “Wow, that guitar tone is gorgeous, even in this CVS. Maybe a strat through a JC-120, hell yeah.” And just like that, I am awake again. A sheriff of songs in the days of dueling, I am quickest to the hip and smoothest with the draw. My revolver is my iPhone, and it’s loaded with the most underrated ammunition that many of us forget we have in our arsenal. I aim, cock the hammer, pull the trigger, and blast a cold chunk of leaden Shazam into the heart of the buzzing speaker. I rarely miss my shot, and the payment of bounty pings my account instantaneously. “Of course!” I cry out in rapturous ecstasy, “Peter fucking Gabriel!” I add it to my latest heard in the wild playlist, I grab whatever shampoo is on sale, and I clear just a little bit of the post-capitalist gloop out of my brain.  I am of the opinion that music is meant to be heard in the wild. When I’m looking forward to listening to something, I’m thinking mainly about the context I will attempt to create around my listening. Where can I walk around where these songs make sense? When it works, it works, but it’s nearly impossible to engineer. As a person of Scottish descent with no real cultural ties whatsoever, I can’t even begin to describe what it was like, discovering Frightened Rabbit while playing a festival with them in Leeds, and then accidentally ending tour with a week off in Edinburgh, spent oscillating between hammered and hungover wandering the endlessly weaving city with “The Midnight Organ Fight” blaring in my headphones. Author’s Note: I didn’t mean it when I wrote “I can’t even begin to describe what it was like…”. What I actually meant was “I’m not going to describe what it was like in this essay. I’m going to write an entire essay on this, which you will be able to read soon. Look at me, I am doing internet things. So, here we stand, in the most infinite aisle of the most infinite pharmacy, trying to find something new to listen to. We have the world at our fingertips, but the world is too noisy, so we put on the noise we’re most comfortable with and we “go on about our business.” Thankfully, my shampoo analogy is about to fall apart, here’s why: The songs aren’t the gloop, your algorithm is. It is a useful and elegant marvel of technology, to be sure, but its methodology is no longer a thing of great mystery, and its goals are clearly defined. Streaming algorithms have been optimized to deliver you more of what they know you like, with the express intent of keeping you on their platform for as long as possible.  Here, we arrive at the dingey bottom shelf of the most infinite pharmacy aisle. Here lies the downside of having every song ever released wading patiently just upstream of your algorithm. You know that album you love, the one you had on loop back in the day? There are hundreds of thousands of songs that sound a lot like it. A reeking landfill of .mp3s that you will probably like, that will also, crucially, not pull at your attention or challenge you in the slightest.  After years of streaming, we’ve effectively self-reported what we think we prefer, what we know we have always liked, what we probably want a lot more of. And yet, “I haven’t found any music in a while.”  And so, I propose a new approach, one I have found helps me to transcend this dynamic- pay attention to the music you notice in the wild. Not the music you hear in the wild, as there are shards of song flung at us from all directions, all the time. I’m not talking about the cliche smooth jazz punishing you from the elevator speaker, I’m talking about the 1992 Peter Gabriel masterpiece “Digging In The Dirt” that reaches out from the heavens to give you a gentle, loving tap on the shoulder to remind you that you are alive. I’m talking about the not-so-rare piece of music that can remind you that life is short and capable of intense beauty and that you might not want to waste too much time on gloop in CVS. Make sure you don’t stop at the Shazam- add that song to your heard in the wild playlist. Maybe, like me, you can’t help but notice music erupting from car stereos at near-impossible volume 20 times a day. Usually, it’s background noise, but occasionally you’re dodging wild chickens while prowling the streets of Ybor City at 2:30 am on the fourth Friday of a five-week tour, the clouds part, and the god of bangers reaches downward with a shimmering Sistine finger outstretched. In a world of trunk-rattling 808s, one melody cuts through, for whatever reason, and thanks to your deftness at coming up off the hip before the red light can turn green, you’ve captured something real from your moment. A piece of art now belongs to you just as much as it belongs to anyone else. If you’re anything like me, you will probably enjoy revisiting this song for years to come, not because you love the genre or tend to listen to similar artists, but because this song, at least to you, is powerful enough to steal your attention away from all the other stimuli without even trying. You’ve already unwittingly pressure-tested the song’s ability to whip you into presence, now get to know it a little better and see where it takes you. These songs may also gain geographic significance as you continue to develop the habit. Anytime I listen to “Love & War” by Lil Poppa, I’m back in Ybor City, and I’m enveloped in this memory thanks to an artist from Jacksonville with 386k monthly listeners that the algorithm wouldn’t have served me in a million years. The geography doesn’t even need to be interesting to stick, and although I can mentally retrace countless adventures through my playlists, if I’m honest, a lot of the songs take me back to CVS or somewhere like it. That is also okay with me, because at least it means I walked away with a bit more than the post-capitalist gloop I came for.  (this is a pi only preview of a newsletter i'm launching this month. the newsletter is part of a larger project that includes original music (bangers) and youtube docs (about making / playing / loving bangers all around the world. if you've got any notes, i'd love to hear em, and if you like what you've just read, we should be friends. if you made it this far, i appreciate you genuinely and deeply. the world is crazy, but i've been working hard, and i'm excited to share everything. the newsletter site isn't live yet and none of the copy is final, but if you feel compelled, hit the link and signup pre-launch. <3. ok sick cya l8r.) photo by ashley gellman.

@buyingfireworks

Apr 8, 2025

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Hammond B3 Organ Cistern by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

The days I don’t want to kill myself are extraordinary. Deep bass. All the people in the streets waiting for their high fives and leaping, I mean leaping, when they see me. I am the sun-filled god of love. Or at least an optimistic under-secretary. There should be a word for it. The days you wake up and do not want to slit your throat. Money in the bank. Enough for an iced green tea every weekday and Saturday and Sunday! It’s like being in the armpit of a Hammond B3 organ. Just reeks of gratitude and funk. The funk of ages. I am not going to ruin my love’s life today. It’s like the time I said yes to gray sneakers but then the salesman said Wait. And there, out of the back room, like the bakery’s first biscuits: bright-blue kicks. Iridescent. Like a scarab! Oh, who am I kidding, it was nothing like a scarab! It was like bright. blue. fucking. sneakers! I did not want to die that day. Oh, my God. Why don’t we talk about it? How good it feels. And if you don’t know then you’re lucky but also you poor thing. Bring the band out on the stoop. Let the whole neighborhood hear. Come on, Everybody. Say it with me nice and slow    no pills  no cliff  no brains on the floor Bring the bass back.    no rope  no hose  not today, Satan. Every day I wake up with my good fortune and news of my demise. Don’t keep it from me. Why don’t we have a name for it? Bring the bass back. Bring the band out on the stoop. Hallelujah!

@caskeyc

Jul 4, 2024

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Pulp – Help The Aged

Fantastic song on a fantastic album. Not sure what else to say. Try to forget that nothing lasts forever!

@greebo

Jan 27, 2025

Top Recs from @tonyprice

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THE WEST COAST POP ART EXPERIMENTAL BAND - “EIGHTEEN IS OVER THE HILL”

IS THIS THE GREATEST PSYCHEDELIC POP SONG OF THE 1960’S? THE FOUNDER OF THIS GROUP WAS A BIZARRE BLOKE. HIS NAME WAS BOB MARKLEY AND HE WAS ADOPTED BY AN OIL TYCOON. HE HAD A STRANGE, OBLIQUE BOWL CUT. SO PSYCH. CHECK OUT THEIR SONGS. THEY HAVE SO MANY GOOD ONES. OH YA…BOB MARKLEY MAY HAVE BEEN A NONCE. HENCE THE SONG TITLE. BUT THE SONG…PERFECTION. A MINIATURE MOMENT OF SPARKLING DARKNESS THAT EMANATES A DERANGED, CAPTURED INNOCENCE. CLOSE YOUR EYES AND YOU MIGHT SEE CHARLEY MANSON’S FACE APPEAR OUT A BLACK CLOUD OF FUNERAL SMOKE. MUCH LIKE MANSON’S STUNNINGLY HAUNTED SONG “ LOOK AT YOUR GAME GIRL”, THERE IS A DEEPLY FORLORN QUALITY TO THIS TUNE. WHEREAS THE BEATLES TENDED TOWARD THE WHIMSICAL, PLAYFUL AND LET’S BE HONEST, BLOODY FUCKING GOOFY SIDE OF THINGS, THIS SONG HINTS AT SOMETHING MUCH MORE NEFARIOUS. GO LISTEN TO THE SONG WHILE LOOKING AT THE SEVEN OF CUPS CARD FROM THE RIDER WAITE TAROT DECK. AND THEN LOOK UP THE LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN AIR FORCE STATION IN LAUREL CANYON. AND THEN CHECK OUT THE BOOK “CHAOS” BY TOM ONEILL. AND THEN READ “WEIRD SCENES FROM THE CANYON” BY DAVE MCGOWAN AND ONLY BELIEVE HALF OF IT. AND THEN READ ABOUT THIS BAND. AND THEN REWATCH MULHOLLAND DRIVE. AND THEN ASK YOURSELF: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH LOS ANGELES?

@tonyprice

Jan 30, 2024

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MINK DEVILLE - “‘A‘ TRAIN LADY”

A STONE COLD NEW YORK CITY CLASSIC. LOU REED IS GOD BUT THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BETTER THAN “WALK ON THE WILD SIDE”. IT’S MADE WITH THE SAME INGREDIENTS. THAT SWEET-TOOTHED DOO WOP LILT, THAT JUNKED OUT SWAGGER, THOSE CHURCHY BACKING VOCALS, THAT BIG APPLE SAXOPHONE… THIS SONG IS SO NEW YORK IT’S LIKE LICKING THE ENTIRETY OF THE PAVEMENT THAT MAKES UP 14TH STREET AND THEN USING ABEL FERRARA‘S TOOTHBRUSH TO CLEAN YOUR MOUTH BEFORE SNIPING DOWN A PLAIN SLICE. AND THOSE LYRICS. MY GOD. REMEMBER THAT ONE MOMENT WHEN YOU SAW THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE FOR THE FIRST AND LAST TIME ON A SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY PLATFORM SOMEWHERE BETWEEN 14th AND 59th? YOU BLINKED AND THEY LEFT. YOU WENT BACK TO CONSUMING 500,000 IMAGES AND 2000 MG OF CAFFEINE PER DAY, WONDERING WHY YOU FEEL ANXIOUS AND SELF DIAGNOSING ADHD. BUT THE MEMORY REMAINS. IT COULD HAPPEN AGAIN. BUT YOU WON’T DO ANYTHING WILL YOU?

@tonyprice

Jan 30, 2024

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SONNY ROLLINS - EAST BROADWAY RUN DOWN

THIS ISN’T JAZZ…THIS IS PURE METROPOLITAN SOUND MATTER. SONNY ROLLINS ON IMPULSE WITH FREDDIE HUBBARD, ELVIN JONES AND JIMMY GARRISON BEHIND AND BESIDE HIM. IS THIS THE FURTHEST “OUT” SONNY ROLLINS EVER WENT? MAYBE. BUT THOSE QUESTIONS ARE FOR GUYS WITH SOUL PATCHES AND KNIT “WORLD MUSIC” STYLE CAPS. NOT ME. ELVIN JONES PLAYS HIS DRUMS LIKE GOD PLAYS WATER… STRAIGHT LIQUID…TOTAL FLOW. LATE 2010s. I LIVED ON MOTT STREET. I WALKED TO EAST BROADWAY. I NOTICED THE YOUTH. THEY TURNED 18 AND EITHER CHOSE “KIDS” (1995) OR “TRAINSPOTTING” (1996) AS THEIR IDENTITY. SONNY ROLLINS WOULD EXIT THE SCENE AFTER THIS RECORD FOR 6 YEARS. I WONDER IF HE WILL BE PRACTICING ON THE WILLIAMSBURG BRIDGE TOMORROW MORNING WHILE SOME DRUNKEN CANAL TYPE KID PASSES HIM, PHONE IN HAND, EN ROUTE TO DROP $12.99 FOR A COFFEE WITH RARE NUT MILK. WILL THEY LEAVE THE CUSTOMARY 25% TIP FOR THE MISERABLE BARISTA? WILL THAT PORCHES CHAP BE THERE? HE IS EVERYWHERE. I’M NEVER TIPPING AGAIN.

@tonyprice

Jan 30, 2024