The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 3: The Scion of the Penthouse Empire Is Here To Save Us All)

By the 1980s, Rolling Stone had entrenched itself in the popular consciousness as the rag of the establishment. White faces dominated its covers and its editorial staff. The same disrespect shown to disco and dance musics the prior decade moved on to hip hop. A rival on the newsstands was needed as much as wanted, and in May 1985, a challenger appeared.

More than a mere smart alternative to Rolling Stone, not just the snotty li’l cousin, Spin posited itself as a worldly magazine, the cool-ass uncle. On the cover of issue #1 is Madonna at fair sultriness, next to a promising strip of articles within: U2, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Fela Kuti, Stryper, Bryan Ferry, Bronski Beat, Sade, Run-DMC, the Replacements, Del Fuego. Issue #2, Jerry Harrison and David Byrne are tasked with balancing the likes of Billy Joel, Nick Rhodes, the Smiths and the entire “Go-Go Underground” while Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz daydream about holding Byrne’s head into a Port Authority toilet.

What was Rolling Stone putting out? Well, the May 9th issue boasts Madonna also, alongside Rosanna Arquette (Their New Movie’s Hot). If you’re in the mood for Hunter S. Thompson on Saigon, Martin Short, Tom Wolfe, and the scourge of ticket scalping, please, come right in. In the mood for music? Sorry, you’ll have to wait two weeks, when Phil Collins’ll be derping it up. Smart choice, guys, I mean who wants to see look at Sade anyway? The first June issue gives Julian Lennon his sunshine, which, hey, the kid was ubiquitous at the time. Two weeks later, it’s David Letterman on the cover, an Eric Clapton interview and “The Go-Go Craze.”

Yep. Spin beat Rolling Stone to Go-Go.

I find it annoying as a blogger, but refreshing as a reader, that Spin has thus far eschewed a trademark list such as the “500 Greatest Albums.” Refreshing because, as hard as RS ignores most jazz, metal and country in these overviews, Spin goes even harder. Annoying, because it means the mag’s narrative arc is a bit harder to chart. I can look at Rolling Stone and see how, in a sense, they’ve evolved from the hard-line old-school “greatest generation” musical mindset. It’s not about disavowing the pioneers, it’s about expanding the space. It’s not about bemoaning the alleged death of a sound, it’s about appreciating the reform of said sound.

With Spin, I dunno. Early on, their lists were irreverent. “Twenty Greatest Punk Songs Ever,” “The 100 Most Representive Funk Songs,” “Alt-Rock’s 42 Greatest Novelty Hits.” They had no agenda. Nearly forty years later, I'm unsure as to whether that's still the case. As it is, I’m looking over a mere five albums lists.

The “25 Greatest Albums of All-Time” from 1989 is a masterful snapshot of exactly what Spin was at that moment in time. Sex Machine rules the roost, followed by Swordfishtrombone and Blonde on Blonde. The soulful black guy the writers wanted to be followed by the homely white poets the writers wanted to be. I can practically smell the rotisserie chicken being wolfed down in the writer’s room. This is less a list of the actual 25 greatest albums ever, and more the 25 greatest albums from the artists they most wanted to emulate. 

Spin came of age in the 1990s, as their early support of college/indie rock eased them into the grunge phenomenon. (Contrast with RS, who five months before the release of Nevermind published their “New Faces 1991 issue” featuring Charlatans U.K., De La Soul, Chris Isaak and the guitarist from Extreme.) Their “Top 90 Albums of the ‘90s” is ergo the only list they should ever concern themselves with updating, if only to see how drastically it changes with each successive generation.

Lamentably, the first is still the only. An intriguing little read, a ranking neither top-notch nor bottom-rung, the equivalent of a two-mile walk on a sweltering summer morning—I really didn’t enjoy it at first, but by the end, I was glad for the journey.

Lessee…Cibo Matto were an industry plant before I knew what an industry plant was…I’d like to think RJD2’s career has obliterated the need for any Fatboy Slim nostalgia. Putting notorious Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine hater Kristen Hersh above Raekwon is both ridiculously honest and honestly ridiculous, whereas I don’t believe the inclusion of Sublime’s self-titled monstrosity is anything deeper than an exaggerated nod to the continued popularity of the band’s logo. Glad to see Ten in the top half, given the recent critical trend of Pearl Jam un-appreciation, and fuck yes, There’s Nothing Wrong With Love is my favorite Built To Spill album. Not bad, not bad. I do take umbrage with Spin's placement of Illmatic at absolutely fucking nowhere, but hey, it was 1999, so the ether had not yet burned Jay-Z's soul.

In 2005, to celebrate the magazine’s first twenty years, Spin put together the “100 Greatest Albums 1985-2005.” Despite my reservations at the time, the OK Computer love’s held up well (better than the love for The Smiths, anyway). I have no qualms with Sign o’ the Times in the top 10 for several reasons, not the least of which is my amusement at the long-standing struggle for critics and listeners alike to consent on a “best Prince album.” (Sign, Purple Rain and 1999 each have ten people ready and willing to fight for it at any time, in any place.) Conversely, I’m by now resigned to certain narratives; namely, Daydream Nation is the sword in the stone and a worthy Pendragon has not, does not, will not exist. (The only mystery lies in whether Goo or Sister rocks the ruby-encrusted crown.)

Ten years on, how about the 300 best albums of the past thirty years? Silly; if you’re going to rank that many fucking albums, why limit yourself so relatively severely? On one paw, doing so frees you of particular pressures and blesses your list with a fresh varnish. On the other paw, you’re still allowing the likes of Achtung Baby and Different Class to play on the same grounds with Loveless and Dig Me Out. Also, see here, they’ve picked the wrong Built To Spill album! Fishscale over Liquid Swords? Everyone who's ever worked for Spin magazine is to actual Hell!

Sigh.

I’ll end on the best of the 2010s and guess what, it’s butt. For every Courtney Barnett and Best Coast, there’s a DaBaby and Paramore. 

Grunt.

Rather than demean the music made during the decade, I’ll fix the spotlight of shame where it belongs: on the faux-adventurous, image-plagued, hyper-self-aware people responsible for these articles. Spin would do well to follow this motto re: lists: Go '90s or Go Home.

Tomorrow...my, how the turntables turn....

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 2: History Is Written By the Wenner)

Rolling Stone began life in November 1967 as a monthly print mag. In less than a decade, it earned a reputation as the cultural rag all the cool kids read, a flipbook concerned with political reporting as with covering the modern music scene. Appearing on the cover of the Rolling Stone meant you’d made it. Writing the right article, the right review, could advance your career in a way few other magazines of the time could promise.

Over time, RS's reputation morphed into a jowly, stiff-shouldered creature: rockism incarnate. Old white dudes stuck in what they considered the halcyon days of rock ’n’ roll (a time period perhaps not coincidentally matching up with the halcyon days of Rolling Stone itself). Ferocious repulsion is a common response to many of the lists the mag’s unleashed over the decades; Best Guitarists is always a fun one. But no list, absolutely no list, boils the blood and roils the guts like Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time.

First appearing in 2003, with updates in 2012, 2020, and 2023, it is the gold standard others rush to emulate. Not for its quality or accuracy, necessarily, but for its significance. You may not have bought an issue in your life, or gladly clicked a link to the website, but you understand the meaning of Rolling Stone, comprehend that once you tally up the likes and lumps, a truth remains: Rolling Stone is a recognizable, somehow-still-semi-respectable brand. It took until this year, when our mercurial overlords out West took time off from perfecting a watch that can tell time, blood pressure, and your date of death, for serious competition in the “reputable name shapes narrative” stakes to appear on the cultural landscape.

And I will be getting to Apple’s records. But not before looking back at exactly what Rolling Stone’s lists hath wrought upon the world.

On average, these 500 Greatest Albums lists are one-fifth “yay,” one-fifth nay,” and three-fifths “okay.” Calling anything “great” for the purposes of a list such as this is conferring upon it quality and influence. Albums featured therein impacted music in an inarguably meaningful way. They are, if not liked, then respected. They are, if not popular, at least known via cultural osmosis. Given the percentage of people I come across who are unable and/or unwilling to differentiate between their “favorite” album and the “best” album they’ve heard, it’s no shock that these curated lists inspire more rants than raves.

Per the site, over three hundred artists, producers, critics, and “industry figures” were consulted to create the most recent list. Ostensibly, diversity of opinion results in diversity of list. Which is certainly true, but as I listen to as much different music as circumstances allow, it doesn't change my feelings on the lists in the main. On average, the choices that I find personally disagreeable outnumber the ones I find agreeable, but not by much: 99 to 81, actually. 

(The concerted effort to expand representation reveals the rub with ranked lists. I doubt all of the folks perturbed by the presence of Beyonce, Taylor, Kendrick, et. al would be so vociferous in their displeasure if those artists weren’t placed ahead of Dylan, Bruce, and the Stones. It’s much easier on the soul to make room than it is to be surpassed.)

Recency bias is a bad thing when it benefits artists I don’t care for. The 1950s and 1960s combine for 80 entries; the ‘70s, 155; 71 for the ‘80s; 101 for the ‘90s; the oughts, 51; the 2010s, 42. Every decade from the Eighties on back has seen a hit in representation since the 2003 list, which makes sense. The Nineties, however, went from 61 to 101, which only tells me RS wasn’t really paying attention.

From 2003 to 2023, only What’s Going On? and Pet Sounds appear in both top 10s. Sgt. Pepper’s went from top spot to 24, all of a sudden the third best Beatles album. (Fine by me; RS correctly rates Abbey Road fifth overall.) The critical reevaluation of Sgt. Pepper’s is book-worthy, forget blog-worthy, journeying as it has from “justly highly rated” to “slightly overrated” to “somehow underrated” to now “properly rated.”

What’s Going On? didn’t have far to reach the top; it started out sixth-greatest twenty years prior. Why, exactly, Songs In the Key of Life needed so long to reach the top 10 is a puzzler. Blue isn’t my personal Joni fave, but I’d be a goddamn idiot to deny its importance. Trout Mask Replica is also quite vital, yet it went from #60 to not mentioned at all. Weird, given the increased popularity of hallucinogens in this country over the past few years.

Some of the falls fill me with sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, though. Sex Pistols from 41 to 80? Tell me more! Forever Changes no longer 40, now 180? You gotta let me sit down! Only two Smiths albums? Ooh, still too many, but an encouraging trend! U2 only two albums on the list, wow, tell me Jann Wenner ain’t shit without telling me Jann Wenner ain’t shit!

“The older artists are getting shafted!” goes the cry. Well…the older guys, sure. Aretha Franklin and Joni Mitchell both doubled their presence on the list. What’s the big deal, the Beatles still have nine albums and Elton John going from six records to two is fine, because he’s essentially a singles artist. Throw Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on there, that’s solid. And seriously, the Who did not need seven albums on the original list.

The biggest problems with the RS 500 remain: under-representation of jazz, metal, and country music; and the inclusion of greatest hits albums. Complete bullshit cop-out. If that’s the criteria, why aren’t the Red and Blue Albums numbers one and two?

Okay, so that’s what genre-specific lists are for. Rolling Stone does those as well, though I’m kinda wishing they’d not.

2017 saw the 100 Greatest Metal Albums of All-Time, which after the top 30 is an incomplete shit-show. Korn good, Deftones good, but not metal. Evanescence metal, but not good. Twisted Sister rocked for like a month. Marilyn Manson is a mistake. The list also has a fondness for picking the wrong album for the right artist. As the Palaces Burn is cool; Wrath will go down as Lamb of God's legacy record. Why go for copper with Louder Than Love when the iron Badmotorfinger is right there? Choosing Bulldog over Houdini  Just a mess. And don’t get me started on Motley Crue having two albums in the top 50. (Well, do, but in person and when you’re sure I’ve had a couple drinks.)

Can’t argue with Iron Maiden or Dio. My fave Slayer doesn’t make it, but my fave Slayer didn’t influence the genre as massively as some others. My fave Slayer? Oh, just you wait. I do like …And Justice For All making the top 20. Metallica will never be that fascinating again. Number one is Paranoid, which can only be replaced with any other Black Sabbath album.

Five years later, the Stone tried their hand at country and hip-hop. The country one is better than the metal one, as it waits until no. 50 to take a turn for the crappy. The top four is a great place to start if you’ve never given the genre a go.

The hip-hop list is the comedy and tragedy masks melted down into word form. Of the 200 records, I wholeheartedly agree with 70 being on and wholeheadedly disagree with 87 of them. That leaves only 43 albums that I either acknowledged as worthy while not feeling gung-ho on either way or just outright disliked, which is the sign of a list compiled by people who have a cursory understanding of the genre upon which they speak. These are the people who think the “G” in Kool G Rap stands for “gangsta.” The people who think Redman is a member of Wu-Tang Clan. The people who would be fawning over Nonphixion if they’d put out The Future Is Now on Matador.

Illmatic at 24 is tolerable, but then there’s Li’l Kim, Future and Cardi B in the top 20—of all-time!—and I’m supposed to respect this list? Chance the Rapper means more than Pete Rock, apparently. And fine, Chief Keef is the godfather of drill rap, and he’s ‘bout that life, but that doesn’t mean his record belongs in the top 40.

I won’t even bitch about Can Ox at 165. At this stage I’m grateful records of that quality are still being mentioned.

Now, the top 5 is fine. Stankonia and Blueprint show a fealty to movement over music—but I’d expect nothing less from the magazine that called side two of Abbey Road “a disaster” in their initial review. Miss E…So Addictive in the top 10 is absurd, though. I love Missy, and she deserves every flower in the shop, but a swing and a miss here.

I’ll wrap this up with a gander at Rolling Stone’s “Best of the Decade” lists, of which they’ve only done four.

Algor mortis had barely begun when Jann’s gang revealed their best of the 1980s, a list in love with all the right names. London Calling number one, sure, revolution and snot and all the stuff the magazine claimed to be but never could be. Purple Rain runner-up, obviously. Murmur at only 8 is mildly shocking given the inflexible tent-pole they had for R.E.M. all the way up through Automatic For the People. Oh look, it’s Daydream Nation at 45. They put it on their Top 500 too. They always will. It’s the only important Sonic Youth record ever, or did you not know that?

No Devo, no Rio, no Reign In Blood, no Dwight Yoakam. If you’re wondering who loved those Pete Townshend, Neville Brothers and Don Henley albums, look no further. One XTC, and it’s Skylarking. Let’s Dance at 83, far too low. Steel Wheels by the Stones at 95 and Was (Not Was) at 99...Jesus, this list is so trash.

The 1990s list is another fuck-me fest. Of the 100 albums named, I found 22 worthy and 20 wasted. My music tastes have evolved over time, of course, but I can’t recall a time I thought, Okay, I’m done listening to this DJ Shadow record, time to put on some U2. (Although don’t be surprised is said sentence, or some variation, appears on Jann's headstone.) Some of the choices are galling: Bridges to Babylon? Sublime? I can at least give RS credit for acknowledging Superunknown and Ten. (The longer Pearl Jam goes, the less credit their music is given. You want a hot take, here’s a hot take: Vitalogy is better than In Utero.)

The 2000s are more interesting musically than the RS list insists. To wit: Kid A top spot, Is This It next, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot bronze. Lots of better rock being made, I assure you. Built to Spill, Erase Errata, Magik Markers. It’s nice to see The Woods, even if it is the least of Sleater-Kinney’s output of the decade. I’ll take it forwards and backwards over whatever blandness U2 threw into the stew. Wait, there’s U2 here? Oh, my friend, there are three U2 albums here. 2 Dylan’s in the top 15, 2 Springsteen in the top 25.

The 2010s list is slightly more palatable, thanks to the likes of Beyonce, Taylor Swift and Kendrick Lamar cancelling out the aural terrors foisted upon me by Billie Eilish, Lana Del Ray and Drake. I may quibble with To Pimp A Butterfly over Good Kid, m.a.a.d City, but I GET IT, Good Kid is just a banger and TPAB has levels. It's not about me, it's about the world around me, and the world around me wants that politically-charged goodness right now.

Here is where I state my umbrage at Kanye West’s dominance of this list. For future posts concerning the 2010’s, remember the preceding sentence, for I feel not like typing it again.



Tomorrow: A new challenger appears! And doesn’t put up much a fight, really!

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 1: What's the Big Idea?)

 Lists. Huh. Good god, y’all.

Best, favorite, greatest. Three different words, three different meanings. Keen as the world’s become on calling a slingshot a pistol, “best” indicates “excellence,” “favorite” indicates “preference,” and “greatest” indicates “importance.” On lists of best guitarists, it makes sense Yngwie Malmsteen would rate consistently higher than J Mascis. On lists of favorite guitarists, you’re more likely to see Kurt Cobain than Jeff Beck. On lists of greatest guitarists, Jimi Hendrix is a given, but Steve Howe is not.

Recently, Apple Music stirred up a storm o’ shit via their 100 Best Albums of All-Time, released over a period of ten days to maximize social media impact. Said tempest comprised the customary kibbles ’n’ bits: outrage, cynicism, confusion, relief. The prominent issue with lists presented by cultural tastemakers—be they magazines, websites, sports leagues or the techno-monolith determined to fully automatize life on Earth before the dawn of the 22nd century—is the assumption of authority. Many an ego has trembled under either the blast of validation or the sting of repudiation felt upon perusing a curated list. What gives Apple the right? Where’s Rolling Stone get off? Who died and left Pitchfork their office?

It is human nature to resent authority on a macro level, while also craving it on a micro level. Hence the controversy aroused by any list which purports to present the “Best” or “Greatest” of anything. Making such lists requires supreme cognitive dissonance, since the stipulations of creation are concerned more with the narrative accepted by the world at large than one critic’s personal biases. The Beatles may not land a spot anywhere on your personal top 50 favorite albums, but failing to include even a single Fab Four record on any “Best of” or “Greatest Ever” list borders on childishness, instability, ignorance and good ol’ contrarian assholery.

And here, then, is where I stand in all four states. 

                                                                                ****

At first, I’d decided to tackle just the Apple list. Newest rawest and all. Give my opinions, determine exactly how out of touch I am. In talks with chums, though, other music lists came up—ones from Rolling Stone and Pitchfork specifically, those unserious critiques that nevertheless drive clicks off cliffs. (While those indeed dominate my attention here, I tackled a few more that defied resistance.) In short order, the project matured, and one multiplied to forty-four.

I’ll stop short of listing the fucking lists from best to worst; rather, I’ll be looking at the lists released by publication. Here's what you can expect.

Albums:
Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2003, 2012, 2020, 2023) 

NME 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2013) 

Apple Music 100 Best Albums of All-Time (2024)

Rolling Stone 200 Greatest Hip Hop Albums of All-Time (2022)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 1980s (1989)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 1990s (2019)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 2000s (2011)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 2010s (2019)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Country Albums of All-Time (2022)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Metal Albums of All-Time (2017)

Pitchfork 200 Best Albums of the 1960s (2017)

Pitchfork 100 Best Albums of the 1970s (2004)

Pitchfork Top 100 Albums of the 1980s (2002)

Pitchfork 200 Best Albums of the 1980s (2018)

Pitchfork Top 100 Favorite Albums of the 1990s (1999)

Pitchfork 150 Best Albums of the 1990s (2003)

Pitchfork 150 Best Albums of the 1990s (2022)

Pitchfork 200 Best Albums of the 2000s (2009)

Pitchfork 210 Best Albums of the 2010s (2019)

NME 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2013)

Spin 25 Greatest Albums of All-Time (1989)

Spin 90 Greatest Albums of the 90s (1999)

Spin 100 Greatest Albums 1985-2005 (2005)

Spin 300 Best Albums of the Past 30 Years (2015)

Spin 101 Best Albums of the 2010s (2020)

Paste 300 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2024)

Songs:
Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2004)

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2010)

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2021)

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2024)

NME 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2014)

Rolling Stone 50 Best Songs of the 1980s (2023)

Rolling Stone 50 Best Songs of the 1990s (2017)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Songs of the 2000s (2011)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Songs of the 2010s (2019)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Country Songs of All-Time (2024)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Hip Hop Songs of All-Time (2016)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Heavy Metal Songs of All-Time (2023)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 1960s (2006)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 1970s (2016)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 1980s (2015)

Pitchfork Top 200 Tracks of the 1990s (2010)

Pitchfork 250 Best Songs of the 1990s (2022)

Pitchfork Top 500 Tracks of the 2000s (2009)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 2010s (2019)

Please note, Paste’s list hit the scene the very same day I was preparing this post for publication. Because of fucking course Paste’s list hit the scene the very same day I was preparing this post for publication.

Lemonade Sandwich

DARK MATTER
4/19/2024

I get the skepticism when a long-running band gets the hype train for their newest album rolling by proclaiming it their “best work.” Who are they trying to kid/convince/fool? “The older, the better” works for wine, but not for music.

Or so the wisdom goes.

“Scared Of Fear”--The sound of “lifelong creative confidantes and brothers in one room” rocking it inside out under the auspices of a producer young enough to be the son of any one band member is, simply, anthemic melancholia. And the questions, thankfully (reassuringly?), flow still.

“React, Respond”—Rubber smacks wood with maniacal glee. My favorite runners are also big bouncers.

“Wreckage”—A hit between 1997-2007, nowadays space junk in the sonic galaxy.

“Dark Matter”—Unlike the previous tune, a gem of purposeful lethargy, “Dark Matter” boasts all the slick with none of the stick.

“Won’t Tell”—Mid-tempo excuse for Eddie to show and prove. But not tell. See the title?

“Upper Hand”—Lower tier, though.

“Waiting For Stevie”—Wonder? Ray Vaughan? There’s multiple references to a “her,” ah, so then it’s Nicks! Will you ever win, indeed. After a streak of moody, well-meaning mediocrity, we are back like Edge at the Royal Rumble. Starts with the (quite good) chorus and by the end, hopefully you understand that Matt Cameron is the real MVP.

“Running”—The shortest track here at 2:19, “Running” is a jam handy if you’re keen on skateboarding atop a motorcycle.

“Something Special”—Hand up, chin up! Because yes, we fuck up, we fall down, sometimes we are even held down, but staying down is for the dead and the dead only.

“Got To Give”—Classic rockin’ ode to resilience, and the burnt-off cynicism of youth.

“Setting Sun”—Not as catchy as an a.m. birdsong, but about as memorable. So glad PJ realized every act is not built to riot.

Offering none of Gigaton’s experimentation doesn’t exactly place Dark Matter in the pantheon with Ten and Vs, and besides I liked Gigaton. This is Pearl Jam content to rock, but not content in the act. And frankly, that’s refreshing.

Snoopy Presents: Welcome Home, Franklin

 

AIRDATE: 2/16/24

STORY: Franklin Armstrong is a kid without a home. He's the sole child in a military family, and as such, lacks the emotional ballasts that other children may take for granted. Landing in Peanutsville, USA, he bucks up and explores the neighborhood, a sweet young boy intent on making the best of yet another less-than ideal situation.  10

MUSIC: With no disrespect intended to Jeff Morrow's contributions, the inclusion of songs by Billy Preston, John Coltrane and Chuck Berry (intended to evoke the late Sixties period when Franklin joined the strip) is more than enough to warrant a 10. Not in the tradition of Peanuts to depend on popular tuneage, certainly, but in this case the exception rules.

ANIMATION: Nothing groundbreaking. Smart shading, lovely coloring, and some tasty lookin' slices of pizza. 9

VOICES: Everyone delivers. Fittingly, top honors go to Caleb Bellavance as the boy of the hour.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

--That Franklin feels utterly lost until he meets Charlie Brown says it all. They bond over baseball, music, and soap box derby racers. It's nice to enjoy some modern media that doesn't feel compelled to dilute its sweet nature with misguided spoonfuls of self-awareness.

--Helping the Schulz family and Scott Montgomery on the script is Robb Armstrong. At just three years old, Armstrong told his mother he'd grow up to be a cartoonist. At age six, he along with millions of other readers worldwide, witnessed the desegregation of Peanuts. 

Twenty-one years later, Armstrong saw the syndication of his own strip. Still going strong, Jump Start gave readers a glimpse into a side of black America Armstrong saw represented nowhere else: the loving, hard-working, middle-class family. His work caught the eye of Charles Schulz himself, and the two men struck up a friendship that lasted until Sparky's passing. 

The dedicated student dreams of impressing their teacher, and so it went for Robb Armstrong one day in the early 1990s, when Schulz called him up with a request. A new Peanuts special was in the works, and Franklin needed a last name. "Could I name him Franklin Armstrong?" Although this last name appeared only in You're In the Super Bowl, Charlie Brown, never in the strips, it can be securely stated that a last name suggested by Schulz himself, and with such a personal meaning, it is indeed canon.

A BAD PEACE

--"Pizza? Of course! Who doesn't like pizza?" I'll tell you who doesn't like pizza, Franklin--losers. Or people with allergies, who are also losers, but losers I feel sympathy for. 

--The fourth-wall break near the start of the show would work with no other character.

--This isn't some rote animation of original strips, though. The warm vibes of Welcome Home, Franklin cannot abide this energy:

--Count me among those tickled by the "retconning" of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Unnecessary, sure, but what grade of jackaninny is offended by a scene in a children's TV program made with the express intent of promoting kindness and comradery?

SCORE

Much like Monie Love listening to Dilla beats, I get "the feel good" watching Welcome Home, Franklin. Back-to-back smash hits from the Apple era. 10

In Here, In Here! or, Back To The Well For Some Bittersweet Water

Influence.

It’s easier than ever for a person or a collective to impose influence; harder than ever to avoid influence. Well, alongside great wealth get a gander at great responsibility. I hope, for their sake, that the hot Tik Tok dimwit of the minute is holding themselves satisfactorily accountable. My doubts are seeds dropped out of gnarled hands onto well-tilled earth, doused with water from a hot length of hose….yet, my pantry is still stocked in case of surprise molding.

Industry.

Food, fashion. Health, travel. Music, movies, games and dogs. Thirteen Banana Bread Recipes That Contain Invaluable Life Hacks. Twenty Fun Things To Pair With a Wet Skirt. Smash Diabetes On a Budget. 70 Songs That Prove Why The 70s Were The Actual Best Decade For Music. Ten Dream Vacations For Americans Too Weird To Get a Passport.

I’m proud to say that I did not wonder how my all-time fave band might fare in the age of bedroom critique, when the writers compete with talkers whose own popularity sometimes dwarfs that of the artists whose work they are reviewing, of my own accord. It was a hypothetical thrust upon me, and for a while I let it have its way. Then I realized: I’m better than this. Do I really care, how Anthony Fantano would score Daydream Nation or Goo? Do I really care, whether or not “Youth Against Fascism” could catch fire with the politically-inclined mononymous prodigies so adored by the actual youth?

No. No.

Instead.

I turn, once more, to the music. Not just of Sonic Youth, but of those acts, born this century, who’ve twisted to SY for inspiration. Not simply the longevity or the advocacy, but the music itself. Like guys, I’m glad you clocked in thirty years by the amps, it’s super how you traveled Oz and decided to hang with the Munchkins while your flannel-flyin’ friends galloped forward, but what about them tunes? Kids these days don’t care about Forced Exposure.

I’m thinking of women who record under brilliant pseudonyms. Lindsay Jordan, Katie Crutchfield, Sophie Allison. Snail Mail, Waxahatchee, Soccer Mommy. I’m thinking of Horsegirl, three teenagers in Chicago bonding over their fascination with a bygone era, the era of indie record labels, fanzines, “scenes,” landline phones, record stores. The era in which SY reigned supreme. The era in which, for a lot of folks, the band reached its artistic pinnacle. 

You know how far aback it threw me when Snail Mail proclaimed an affection for Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star in an interview? When she expressed her fondness for the “emotionally vulnerable Sonic Youth”?  To say nothing of the clear lifts from 2006’s “Incinerate” in two of her own best songs.  Sonic Nurse, at least, garnered praise from critics and fans distressed by the two low-energy offerings preceding, so I wasn’t bowled over by Soccer Mommy pulling the vinyl from her Amoeba bag. And Horsegirl getting two members of SY to play on their album? Of course, why wouldn’t they, if you’re going to live the dream then live the fucking dream. Don’t just wear shirts and hope the producer gets the hint.

Indie.

Independent. Under-heard, under-seen, under-paid. Not as much, not as long. Before the majors, before the money. The “salad days,” except the lettuce is greasy, the tomatoes are leaky, and apparent shredded cheese is actual dead skin. Those days when the tour itinerary included such exotic, never-again-visited locales as Charlottesville, VA, Tuscaloosa, AL and the entire FL. This version of the band is the one recalled most fondly, not merely for their sonic fearlessness but for their willingness to champion creators they believed in. Not just bands, but visual artists and writers. (Oh, the writers! You could make a tidy library out of SY book recommendations dropped over thirty years worth of interviews.) It’s arguable no group had a larger influence on America’s underground music scene, three dudes and one girl in a band reinventing the guitar and alienating the “right people” in the process. SY stepped off stage without a single RIAA certification to their name (making them unique among the acts featured in the "Homerpalooza" episode of The Simpsons), and I am not even attempting hyperbole when I tell you that the list of hit singles released by opportunistic Memphis DJs is longer than the list of hit singles released by Sonic Youth.

The most successful of their proteges, Nirvana, stood out among their peers in ways unconnected to units shifted. Kurt Cobain “Louie Louie”’d the shit outta his lyrics because the likes of “Never met a wise man/if so it’s a woman” and “Broken hymen of your Highness” are not meant to compete with the music. They are meant to antagonize the music, irritate the listener into thought, and you can’t do that while expecting commercial success. So you mumble. You slur. You die. You live forever.

Which isn’t saying any of the aforementioned active artists are comparable to Nirvana or their linchpin. Nor are they akin to the bands who slogged it out alongside the Youth in the van days. These aren’t sloppy, sneery contrarians working through their Mommy issues. Yes, you’ll hear muffled vocals and layers of distortion, but you’ll always catch the pretty confusion stirred up most artfully by purveyors of folk-country and drowsy pop. There is imagination equal to passion; there is heartbreak equal to lust; there is joy equal to pain; there is serenity equal to chaos.

In other words, there is roll equal to rock.

Such is the result, when someone listens to Sonic Youth and end up moved more by "Disconnection Notice" and "Dude Ranch Nurse" than "Silver Rocket" or "100%." Inconceivable! Except. (I kinda can’t get over Snail Mail’s fandom an album generally regarded as an under-baked oddball in the discography, a lightweight entry crammed between the band’s failed commercial fling and their triumphant return to noise rock glory.)

I was there, so I tell you here. Murray Street on, a casually-referential phase of their musical life where they prioritized melody over maelstrom. SY albums were no longer must-listens, to the point where the likes of the Village Voice felt comfy imploring one of NYC’s most formidable racket-gangs to hang up the pedals.

The quality of the music was, of course, a matter of opinion, but the quality of the band itself wasn’t. Sonic Youth were cooler in terms of temperature, and colder in terms of cultural impact. The group did not lose their edge so much as they accidentally-on-purpose left it in a winter wheat field. I never stopped loving them, even when Rather Ripped insisted on maddening inconsistency. I hoped, not exactly fervently, that these latterly releases would receive their due bouquets. 

And so they have.

Interestingly. 

Rock doesn’t matter as much anymore. Hip hop, pop, country, all these genres have surpassed rock as commercial and cultural forces. Arguably, rock peaked in 1994, when guitar music was so hot the mainstream media even threw the broads a bone, pretending to care about the Riot Grrl movement and proclaiming it “The Year of Women In Rock.” The likes of Hole, Veruca Salt, and the Breeders sold well, but never reached the multi-platinum heights of the boys (fuck’s sake, Live’s Throwing Cooper moved eight million units!). So yeah, join in the party, but it's our house, ladies. 

The last fifteen or so years has seen the so-called "death of rock and roll." Hip hop, pop and country rule the charts, and well, why not? Where are the angry young men, strapped up and howling? Rock is moribund, washed. That this dire proclamation comes as the genre's best offerings are being made by women is telling. Silly me, I thought that those Dave Marsh-tested, Jann Wenner-approved masters no longer dominating indicated a welcome shift. And it does. But damn do some people not like to share. 

In conclusion.

Bear it or bust it, but I ain’t lyin’: the girls are right, and the guys can’t deal. The girls were right about the Beatles, they were right about Duran Duran, and by the bow of Artemis, they are right about the “irrelevant” period of Sonic Youth. It mattered. It is worth its weight in revelation. It can be heard in some of the best music being made today.

Snoopy Presents: One-Of-A-Kind Marcie

 

AIRDATE: 8/18/2023

STORY: Marcie is a lot more than just Peppermint Patty's best friend...but she likes being Peppermint Patty's best friend. Marcie is a lot more than the bookish introvert...but she likes being the bookish introvert. She also likes being helpful, even if her efforts go under the radar. It's the results, not the renown, that matter. But when Marcie's grateful peers write her in as Class President, the world becomes a lot bigger...and that, she doesn't like.

MUSIC: Jeff Morrow again, very light and mellow piano. The ideal day is one where you can lay down and not feel like you're wasting time. 9

ANIMATION: Experimental yet fun. Abstract yet sensible. The art direction and shot composition give brilliant insight into a sweet, anxious mind. 10, my favorite animation of the Apple shows so far. 

VOICES: Everyone does their character proud. Lexi Perri isn't my favorite Pep Pat (still a 9) but Arianna McDonald is probably the best Marcie to date. She puts the "flower" in "wallflower." 10 Isabella Leo does triple duty as Lucy, Tapioca Pudding and "Crybaby" Boobie. I give her a 9 just off the strength of Lucy's Marcie impression, which is so solid gold it should have dancers.

The sleeper of the special is Carlin, the first TV-exclusive character in the Peanuts universe since Charles 1997's It Was My Best Birthday Ever, Charlie Brown. Antonina Battrick is marvelous as the little Marcie to Marcie's Peppermint Patty (even calls her "ma'am). 9

GOING OUTSIDE 

--Marcie doesn't use her outlier status as an excuse to demand others kowtow to her every whim or adjust their lives for her benefit or even expect everyone to understand, exactly, what makes her clock hands go. Lots of us can learn from her example.

--Nor does Marcie fundamentally change who she is. This is a young girl as comfortable in a library as she is on a golf course. She adapts. She thrives.

STAYING INSIDE

--Love Sally to death, but I didn't even notice her absence from this special until it was pointed out.

--For a second there, I thought Marcie was going to suggest a recipe for Fish Pizza.

--Can't grab screenshots off Apple programs, at least not the best way. So here, enjoy the photos I took of my computer during two of the absolute most hilarious scenes in animated Peanuts history. 

                                                     

SCORE

Strong 9. Calm and sweet as a sunrise, sincere and profound as heavy rainfall. If you love shopping at Hallmark, but hate watching Hallmark movies, you'll love Apple's Peanuts.