No, I’m not Canadian, but there were many times I wished I was. Being a hockey fan will do that to you. When your country doesn’t embrace your favorite sport the way you do, you look upon the country where that sport is its national pastime with envy and longing. Oh, to live in Canada,  in such exotic places as Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan or Medicine Hat, Alberta. To spend your days eating poutine, watching hockey and…what? An average temperature of 18 degrees in the winter? Maybe I’ll move to Toronto instead.

While my hockey-romantic dreams of moving to Canada faded, my adoration of the country and its people did not. I ordained myself the Unofficial Defender Of All Things Canadian (with some exceptions). Maple syrup! Old time hockey! Free health care! The great outdoors! Apologetic people!  In all seriousness, I do love your country. I have been there several times, though only to Montreal and Toronto and I hear they don’t count as actually visiting Canada.

I thought we’d take some time today to listen to the music of Canada. No, no Bryan Adams or Celine Dion here. We’ll stick to the good stuff.

NoMeansNo – Heavy doses of funky jazz and funky doses of heavy metal with punk rock sensibilities. My favorite band to come out of Canada. My favorite thing to come out of Canada next to hockey.

Propagandhi – Arrogant punk rock with a political agenda. I like when they sing about Canadian things. I have no idea what they mean by “pine cone wealth and cedar fence bliss” but it makes me feel solidarity with Canadians when I sing it.

Rush – Listen, I’m not a big fan of Rush. But I have to concede some things here if I’m not including some of their other greater national treasures.

Triumph - One of the most underrated power bands of the 70s. What? I mean that. I don’t know anyone my age who hasn’t once held up a lighter while singing “I’m young, I’m wild, I’m free.” Canada, be proud of your power rock.

The DeFranco Family – Yes, I mean that. No, I’m not being ironic or funny. This song should be Canada’s national treasure. It’s such an amazing song that I have written an entire novel (well, almost written) in which this song is almost a character. Embrace it, Canadians.

Doug and the Slugs – I’m starting to think that my love of Canadian music isn’t exactly what actual Canadians love about their music.

Finger Eleven – The caveat here is that I’m only including the first Finger Eleven album, back when I thought they’d end up being an awesome band instead of the ridiculous parody of themselves they are now.

Trans-X - “Living on Video” is the only Trans-X song I know but it’s on every single 80s playlist I ever made, so that counts for a lot.

Skinny Puppy – I’d probably be skinned alive if I made a list of Canadian music and didn’t include them.

Strapping Young Lad - Really, anything Devin Townsend has ever done. He should be on Canadian money.

Hot Hot Heat – This is a seriously good band. Makeup the Breakdown is in constant rotation on my stereo. They’re what the Cure would sound like if Robert Smith took Prozac.

I know, I know. I forgot your favorite Canadian band. But the list can only be so long. As much as I love Canada and I have several times been bestowed an “Honorary Canadian”  I don’t think I’m allowed to take the day off from work to celebrate my inner Canadian. So I’ll just walk around work all day singing “Oh, Canada!” and saying things like “aboot” and “hoser” because stereotypes are always amusing.

Happy Canada Day! May your yaks always be large.

But I’m not here to make fun of a series of books and movies that give great pleasure to young women who mistake deranged stalking and obsession for love. I’m here for the music. Music for vampires and werewolves.

Bauhaus – Bela Lugos’s Dead
The calling card of the original goths. Nine minutes of gothic rock which sets a mood that can best be described as the opposite of sparkly.

Warren Zevon – Werewolves of London
By far the best song about werewolves ever written.  Werewolves should probably use this as their official song because it gives them a sense of humanity. I mean, perfect hair, pina coladas. I bet they like walks in the rain, too.

Toadies – Possum Kingdom
Though the meaning of this song is debatable, most people agree it’s about vampires. Sure, “Behind the boathouse, I’ll show you my dark secret” or similar words have been spoken by countless young boys over the years, I don’t think “dark secret” is a euphemism here.

Vampires Will Never Hurt You – My Chemical Romance
So modern-goth. So deep, dark and poetic. You’ll want to buy some black eyeliner and prowl the streets as a nightclub gets out hunting for vampire cliches.

The Cramps – I Was a Teenage Werewolf
“I was a teenage werewolf, braces on my fangs.”  If that won’t give you lifelong issues, I don’t know what will.

Duran Duran – Hungry Like the Wolf
One person’s song about stalking and sex is another person’s literal interpretation that makes it a song about werewolves.

Wesley Willis – Vampire Bat
A good rule of thumb is, any time you can include Wesley Willis in a playlist, do it. Bonus feature: The line “The lake of fire tore his ass up.”

Blue Oyster Cult – Nosferatu
It’s like a gothic Harlequin romance as played out by the most mediocre metal band that wanted to be Iron Maiden but couldn’t.

Misfits – Vampira
You can’t make a list like this without including a Misfits song.”Your pulmonary trembles in your outstretched arm”  comes off perfect instead of  laughable when sung by Danzig.

Six Feet Under – Lycanthropy
This wouldn’t be complete without a death metal presence and Six Feet Under does not disappoint.  Pounding guitars, the Cookie Monster voice, the over the top lyrics (“flesh chewed to the bone bleeding, eternal horror”) – it makes me think those Twilight movies would benefit from an all death metal soundtrack.

There are so many more songs to choose from.  It seems that vampires and werewolves are pretty popular with musicians.  While the lyrics of these songs run the gamut of different kinds of vampires from sexy to lonely to evil, I’m going to guarantee you that not one of them is about a vampire who sparkles.

If you’re still up in the air about joining Team Edward or Team Jacob, maybe this playlist can help you decide. Then again, if you’re into vegetarian vampires and lovelorn werewolves, this probably isn’t the music you’re looking for.

Cover of Pretty Hate Machine

Pretty Hate Machine is almost 21 years old.  It’s older than some people I work with. It’s the same age as my daughter. My, how time flies when you’re Trent Reznor.

The maturity of life does not go hand in hand with musical maturity. Everything else changes. You grow up. You get a real job. You get married, have a kid. Suddenly your life is about keeping the house clean and paying bills and changing diapers. You’ve grown up. Every year, every day brings changes to who and what you are. You’re a spouse, a parent, a cog in the big machine called work. The only thing that keeps us tied to everything we were in our youth, and all the stuff that came with it – the emotions and yearnings that are still inside us but held down by this innate need to mature – is music.

1989. I got a real career type job. I got married. I got pregnant. It was like, yesterday I was working in a record store, going to dingy night clubs to listen to some local punk rock band sing about the unfairness of it all, and today I’m rethinking my choice of dropping my career to be a housewife, my days spent watching some women on a daytime talk show talk about the unfairness of life. What happened?

Enter Trent Reznor and Pretty Hate Machine. This is the album that tied me to those days I left behind. It’s the album that made me yearn for those complex emotions of figuring out love and life. I’d listen to it and almost wish I was back in those night clubs, back in a time when making out in the back seat of a car was ok, back when I wrote poetry about love and loss, back when there was an inherent passion in everything, even heartbreak. Pretty Hate Machine was dark and sexy, bitter and furious. And it was a reminder of how quickly I went from embodying all that to embodying the very model of suburban housewife. I wanted it all. I wanted to feel like Trent Reznor, but live like Martha Stewart. Something I could never have, indeed.

Listening to this album made me feel guilty, like I wasn’t supposed to pine for my youth and miss all that passion that came with it. It made me feel like I had no transition period between then and now. I stopped listening to it so much.

When that marriage ended and a period of darkness and furious bitterness set it in, I listened to it again, in the way that I wanted to listen to it the first time but my illusion of happiness and conformity wouldn’t let me. Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be.

I was grown up. I was mature, right? I had kids. I had a job. I wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this. But at the same time Something I Can Never Have made me feel sad and wistful, the rest of the album made me feel alive. It helped me let my anger go, and it made me want to find the passion that was missing from my life. Maybe this wasn’t an album that a 34 year old should be listening to and feeling, but music is like that. It ties you to your past and makes you feel all those things you thought you forgot about it. And that’s a good thing.

And there’s something still so dirty and delicious about singing the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car.

ugliest trophy ever

It’s an exciting time if you’re a World Cup fan. Group play is almost done. Some teams have already gone marching home (bye bye, France!) and some teams have gained a spot in the round of 16, including my arch enemy, Argentina. You know it’s time to get serious when Maradona starts boasting and he’s already made a pledge to run naked through the streets of Buenos Aires if Argentina wins the cup. So let’s make that not happen.  If the USA team gets eliminated I’ll be sure to cheer for anyone but Maradona’s team because the world has enough environmental disasters without Mr. Hand of God running around in his birthday suit.

Today’s an exciting day. Both England and the USA are playing in games that will determine if they get out of the round or not. Unfortunately, I’ll be at work while those games are going on with no access to a television or a computer with internet. So I’ll be obsessively checking twitter for signs of GOOOOOAAAAAL tweets and living vicariously through those who are in a pub or at home where they can blow their vuvuzelas for the whole game. Did I mention I bough vuvuzelas? I did. They arrived last night. My neighbors hate me, my family wants to disown me and the geese that fly over my house think I want to make love to them.

So with all that in mind, I thought we’d make a playlist for the last few games of group play. For some, these games will let them feel the thrill of victory. For others, the agony of defeat. Surely I’m not the only around here old enough to know where that comes from, right?

This playlist is like a double sided album.  Side one is not just for all the winners out there – or the potential World Cup winner – but for all those who are traveling the hopeful road to victory. Side two is for those who want to wallow in their defeat. I dedicate that side to you, Maradona, with a dose of wishful thinking.

Side One: The Thrill of Victory

Queen – We Are the Champions
Todd Rundgren – Just One Victory
Abba – Winner Takes it All
Faith No More – A Small Victory
Kanye West – Champion
Survivor – Eye of the Tiger
Nelly – Heart of a Champion
NoMeansNo – Victory
Tina Turner – Simply the Best
Journey – Don’t Stop Believing

(Listen, I didn’t say they would all be good songs. Just be thankful I’m not putting up the video for Joe Esposito’s “You’re the Best” from Karate Kid or Stan Bush’s “You Have the Touch” from the original, animated Transformers movie)

Side Two: The Agony of Defeat

Beck – Loser
Three Doors Down – Loser
The Beatles – I’m a Loser
Green Day – Nice Guys Finish Last
The Rolling Stones – You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Kings of Convenience – Failure
James – Defeat
Descendents – I’m Not a Loser
Swans – Failure

I’m quite aware that I could very well be playing side two for my team by next week, but I’ll keep side one queued up until then.

And then I remember. I worked in a record store for a while. Why in the hell would I ever want to do that to myself again? Maybe it would be nice for a while, just sitting behind the counter chatting it up with the other people who are stuck in the past, reminiscing about the glory days of vinyl and punk rock while my bank account slowly bled out. But then Christmas would come along.  Surely, my little record store would be a major success by then and I’d have to deal with something I said I’d never deal with again: The holiday crowd in a record store.

1983 was my first holiday retail experience. It was a baptism by fire, as I landed a job at the busiest record store at the busiest mall on Long Island. On my first day – two days before Thanksgiving – I was handed the requisite blue vest, a name tag and a few whispered words of advice: don’t let them get to you. My co-workers were referring to the barrage of customers that were at the gated entrance to the store fifteen minutes before opening and still clinging to the cassette racks as we were trying to close. You have not seen a whirling dervish in action until you have seen someone hell bent on getting everything on their kid’s Christmas list.

I, however, was no wimp. I could handle any customer, any crowd, any cash register breakdown or old woman sobbing over the Julio Iglesias albums. I immediately volunteered to work the irons – the opening to closing shift – nearly every day. From Thanksgiving until Christmas, I would not have a day off, and most of the days would be the full shift.

In the beginning I had superhero powers. I never got tired from the long hours. I manned every spot in the store; the cash register, the cassette department, the imports. I spent time downstairs unpacking boxes upon boxes of shipments, sorting albums, slapping stickers on them and writing the title, artist and store number on the plastic sleeve of every record with a blue Sharpie.

By the second week in December I was spending more time on the floor helping customers find exactly what they were looking for. During the holiday season, this usually consisted of frazzled mothers trying to remember exactly what it was their son or daughter had asked for. This resulted in a lot of guesswork, humming and/or singing. It also involved many loud gasps of horror when the mother matched the title of the record with the album on the wall, where the albums were displayed in rows of pockets. So many dropped jaws and wide eyes as parents spied the cover to Quiet Riot’s Metal Health. “That’s what my child is listening to? Oh My God! He’s a devil worshiper! I knew it!!”  Or Suicidal Tendencies? OH MY GOD MY BABY IS GOING TO KILL HIMSELF!

Sometimes a parent would ask me suggest something for a kid I knew nothing about. A typical conversation went like this:
“I need an album for my nephew . He’s 15. What do 15 year old boys like?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. Not all 15 year old boys are the same.”
“He likes boy stuff. Cars, girls. Sports. What kind of music do boys like that listen to?”
“Well, he might….”
“Oh, what about those New Kids on the Block? I bet he’d like that!”
“Well, he might…”
“Or that Lionel Richie or Christopher Cross!”
“Did you want me to….”
“Oh, yea, please. Something wholesome.”

And then I’d be a complete asshole and hand them a copy of  “Crippled Children Suck” by the Meatmen.

The kids were just as bad. They would come in without a list, trying to buy music for their parents. Getting the title of a song out of them was like pulling teeth.

“You know, that song old people like. How about if I sing it?”
“Sure kid. Sing away.”

He’d hum something undecipherable.

“Any lyrics?  Just one or two will do.”
“Uhh. Love. And umm…heart.”
“Well that narrows it down.To about 3,000 songs!”
“What are you, stupid? How could you not know what I’m talking about?  You work in a record store!”

Eventually I would convince the kid that the song he was humming was actually Frank Stallone’s “Far From Over“ knowing full well that I would be going to hell for inflicting such pain on an innocent person.

The closer it got to Christmas, the more of a frenzy people were in. They fought over the last copy of Synchronicity. They mobbed us when we opened a new box of Madonna cassettes. Every once in a while, I would have to step over some fur-coated, blue-haired grandma who fainted when she saw the larger-than-life cardboard cut-out of Julio. And I started to feel the result of all work and no play. I was tired, I was cranky and then I lost my voice.

My co-workers made signs for me to hold up so I could still help customers. Two days before Christmas, the only sign I needed to use was “Sorry. We are out of that title right now.” I faced the wrath of customers who, through no fault of mine, had waited until the very last minute to pick up Pyromania. I’d try to tell them that Dio’s Holy Diver was a much better choice, anyhow. I was a little punch drunk.

I listened to the complaints that the register lines were too long and the store was a mess and the floor people were rude. We had to chase customers out of the store ten minutes after closing and even as I was vacuuming and closing up cases they would say “Oh, are you closing?”

I lost my patience and I lost my fixed greeting smile. No longer was it “Welcome to our record store, how may I help you,” but “What you really want to buy your kid is clothes. Go to The Gap and leave me alone.” By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, I was was about one “Will buying Shout at the Devil for my kid turn him into a serial killer?” away from a workplace incident. The only thing that kept me from slicing someone’s neck open and watching them bleed out all over the Michael Jackson display was the happy hours at Houlihan’s. Dinner break meant a walk down to the other end of the mall for free crap food and as many dollar drinks as I could pound back in 45 minutes. Customers are so much nicer, smarter and better looking when seen through the haze of cheap alcohol. I was also more likely to point the blue haired women toward the Exploited or Iron Maiden, but I had to get my jollies somehow.

This was all played out to a soundtrack that was a little mini-war over the store stereo system where the Misfits’ Walk Among Us would get pulled off the turntable by the manager after one song, while she let the evil Huey Lewis’s Sports album play all the way through.

Had I known that the next year I would be doing the record store Christmas stint again and would be subjected to the non-stop playing of Do They Know It’s Christmas, I might have appreciated Huey a little more.

I tortured myself through Christmas of ’86 and decided that I was going to retire from retail after that. I could not handle another holiday season of bitchy parents and surly kids and girls screaming and drooling over New Kids on the Block albums. I had used my holiday bonuses and store discounts to accumulate a nice collection of imports and that almost – almost – offset whatever mental damage that job caused me.

Despite all that, I still refer to my term at the record store as the best damn job I ever had. Where else was I going to get reprimanded, yet lauded, for putting out a Dead Kennedys display on November 22?

I never did work retail again. And every time I revisit my dream of opening up a record store, I think back to those times as a way of slapping myself upside the head.

My father can not sing. I’ve obviously inherited my musical talent from him but the difference between is I’ve learned to not sing in front of people. My father has embraced his awful singing voice and has no fear about unleashing it on an unsuspecting victim.  Sometimes it’s funny (like when he makes up songs to my mother), sometimes it’s horrifying (any Sambuca-fueled rendition of a Frank Sinatra song) and sometimes it’s downright sweet.

From when I was very little,  my father sang “Daddy’s Little Girl” to me.  He subsequently sang it to both my sisters and then, with the words changed to “Grandpa’s Little Girl” to my daughter. No matter how off-key, no matter how monotone the singing was, it was always poignant and sweet to hear. I have wonderful memories of my father rocking my little sister to sleep while singing this song to her, softly.

There’s “Earth Angel” by the Penguins, a song that would make my parents stop what they were doing when it came on the oldies but goodies station. They’d dance – didn’t matter if they were in the kitchen, the front yard or at a company picnic – and my father would sing out loud, without a care that his voice could probably make the dead cover their ears and he would somehow, some way, make it sound sweet and charming.

I mentioned the Rolling Stones “Far Away Eyes” in my previous Father’s Day post. He sang this in front of my friends. He sang it in front of family, in polite company, at formal functions. He still sings it and when he does, it no longer makes me cringe like it did when I was a teenager because somewhere along the way, I learned to be proud of not only who my father is, but that he’s my father. One of the things I love most about him – and one of my favorite lessons learned from him  – is his unflinching enjoyment of life; if it feels good, do it, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.  For him, singing out loud feels good. And what’s a few hurt eardrums between family, anyhow?

I think I’ll surprise him today by asking him to join me in a chorus of “Far Away Eyes.” And I’ll even sing out loud.

One nice thing you can do for both moms and dads on their day is write nice words about them. Parents like that. They want it in writing that you actually like and appreciate them.  On Mother’s Day I wrote a nice little ode to my mom in which I thanked her for everything she taught me about appreciating music. Since this is supposed to be a music column, I thought I’d do the same for dad. But my father’s musical taste runs from Rod Stewart to Elton John and even though he throws some Rolling Stones songs in there there’s not much to say. Gee dad, thanks so much for that night you came home from a wedding a little tipsy and serenaded my friends with your acapella version of “Far Away Eyes.”

Well, even if I can’t give my father the gift of a music column dedicated to him, I can at least help you all out by assisting you in making a Father’s Day playlist. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. There were thousands of mother songs to choose from for my Mother’s Day list (even if they weren’t all complimentary to mothers) but there just aren’t as many artists going out on a limb to praise fathers in song.  So I have stretched the Father’s Day theme here.

For your listening pleasure on Father’s Day, songs for dad. Sort of. You may or may not want to play these on Father’s Day as you sit down to dinner. Some of them, definitely not. Hey, I tried.

The Temptations – Papa Was a Rolling Stone

James Brown – Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag

Notorious B.I.G. -Big Poppa

George Michael – Father Figure

Violent Femmes – Gone Daddy Gone

Tragically Hip – Don’t Wake Daddy

Jane’s Addiction – Had a Dad

Was Not Was – Dad, I’m in Jail

Rolling Stones – Far Away Eyes (just because it’s my father’s favorite song)

Ok, so maybe this should be titled Songs To Not Play on Father’s Day. So much for presenting my father with a meaningful, personal playlist representing my love for him.

Sure hope he likes his power washer.

The article lists a lot of reasons why promoters are having a hard time selling out big name shows; namely, they’ve become too costly thanks to presales, resales, scalpers and the general greed of the music industry. It also lists a few ways promoters and artists could make their shows more appealing to the wallets of fans. But I, a veteran of arena and stadium shows, have a few other ideas on how concerts can be improved upon. I’m not even talking about the part before the show where  you have to figure out how to get tickets because the presale is only for people who have a certain credit card and the regular sale takes place online only during a time when you’re working and don’t have internet access and the only tickets left at the box office will be single seats with obstructed views. I’m talking about once you finally sell a kidney, the naming rights to your first born child and your soul to afford a single ticket, parking, a a beer and a t-shirt.

I’m looking at the concert schedule for this summer and I see that most of the bands doing the big shows are – let me put this kindly – old. A lot of reunion tours, a lot of shows by  bands who cut their teeth on the arena concert. Megadeth and Anthrax, Yes, Meatloaf, Rush, Kiss, Peter Frampton, Foreigner and the Scorpions. The summer tours are shaping up to look like a  Who’s Who of  Bands Your Parents Liked Before You Were Even Born. The problem with that is while the parents are at these shows, so are their kids. Kids who wear AC/DC t-shirts unironically, kids who act like they discovered Led Zeppelin, kids who think their parents are so cool for having been to the first Kiss tour but will never say so and will only say things like “Mom, isn’t 46 a little old to be listening to Anthrax?” To which you reply “Son, Scott Ian is 46 and he’s in Anthrax.”

So I’ve got a little primer for  you, bands who are playing arenas and stadiums this summer. Just a few necessary steps to take to ensure that your summer tour is the smash hit you want it to be with the adults and the kids. Really, these are things that have been bothering me for ages and I’m only now taking the opportunity to share them with you.

Let’s start with, well, the beginning. The start of the show is the form letter of rock and roll.Typically, it goes like this:

The house lights go down. The stage lights go up. The band takes the stage.  And then: “How you doing tonight (insert city here)?”  Wait for the crowd to respond. Then: “Are you ready to rock and roll tonight (insert city here)?”  Wait for response. Decided response isn’t loud enough. Repeat “I said, are you ready to rock and roll (insert city here)?”

We know where we are. We don’t need you to tell us three or four times what city we’re in. Unless that’s for your benefit because you’ve been on the road for weeks and you’re not sure what city you’re in and you’re waiting for the crowd reaction to tell you that you go it wrong. “What? This isn’t New York? Ok then, how you doing tonight, Boise?”  That intro is so cliche, anyhow. If you can’t think of anything fresh to say, just come out and start playing because, let’s face it. You really don’t give a shit how we’re doing tonight. You just care that the seats are filled and you’re just sober enough to get through the show and just high enough to not be bothered that the entire front row is taken up by people in suits who use terms like “grow your band’s brand” and spend the entire concert trying to get an AT&T signal.

And please, don’t  ask us if we are ready to rock and roll because, really, would we be standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty strangers in a place that smells like vomit, beer sweat and mullets if we weren’t ready to rock?  Just once I’d like to see someone in the audience respond to that query by standing up and saying, “Hey no. I just realized I am not, indeed, ready to rock. I’d like go home now.” I would applaud that guy.

Once you’ve got a few songs under your belt and the crowd is, indeed, rocking and having a great time, don’t stop to have a little moment with us by telling the crowd they are the greatest audience you ever played for. “Really, you guys are spectacular. We’ve never played for a crowd like this. You make us feel so welcome, You’re the best audience ever. This one’s for you!” And then you launch into one of your Greatest Hits.  Well, half of us were at the show in Philly the night before and we know damn well you used the same line on them and dedicated the same song to them. Don’t lie to us and tell us we’re beautiful. We know you just want to fuck us and run. And we’re ok with this. This is a rock and roll show. It’s not a date. You don’t have to flatter us. You just have to rock the hell out.

Lastly, we have my pet peeve of concerts: the encore.

The encore is like a parlor trick. “Ok, watch while we say goodbye to the audience and thank them for a wonderful time and then PSYCH! we come back on stage and play again!” Except it’s an old parlor trick. Very old. Everyone knows how this is going to go. You play your last song, which will be your most current radio hit. For reunion tours and bands who haven’t put out an album this decade, it will be your best ballad. The crowd will sing along and everyone will feel good as the song ends and you say “Good night (insert city here)! Thanks for coming!  Get home safely! Buy a t-shirt, a poster and a mouse pad commemorating our time together on your way out!”   Then the ritual starts. It’s sort of like going to Catholic church where you stand, sit, stand, sit, kneel, sit, stand, kneel, run out the back door before everyone else.  The concert ritual goes like this:  you says goodnight, crowd applauds wildly as you  leave the stage, crowd gets louder after you disappear, feet stomp, hand clap, shouts of  “more, more more!”  Then – what a surprise! – you’re back on stage singing one of your Golden Hits of Yesterday. This goes on for the next 45 minutes or so, with you doing a song, saying goodnight, waiting for the crowd to get really loud then coming back out until finally, after maybe the fourth time of doing this you break out into whatever your band’s “Freebird” is and the audience goes wild.

Stop it, ok? All that time  you spend listening to the crowd scream your name and stomp their feet? Sure it’s good for your ego. But you could have spent that time playing another song instead of making us beg and plead like some musical BSDM game. And then you come out and play that song we all knew you were going to play anyhow. Think about it! Instead of all that empty time spent backstage throwing back a few more beers and grab-assing some groupies, you could have been playing. Instead of probably snickering to yourselves while the older people in the crowd flick their Bics and the kids turn on their iPhone Bic apps, you could have been playing of few your less popular songs. You know, the ones the old school fans like us know all the words to but you don’t play because the kids don’t know them.

These are just a few pointers for you, guys. Get this summer tour rolling right. If we’re going to pay the equivalent of a third world country’s GNP to see you, at least cut out the bullshit and just play us the music we love without all the pandering.

By the way, I hate your most popular song. I’m already in the parking lot by the time you hit the last note and the house lights go up. And I didn’t even buy a t-shirt.

This isn’t the case for all covers. I’ve always said, if you’re going to remake a song then really remake it. Don’t just re-record what the original artist put down. Take that song and make it your own. Turn it on its head. It’s even better when an artist takes a song completely out of their genre and does something spectacular with it. But it shouldn’t be done in an ironic way or for a little chuckle (see every punk band’s cover of any pop song); it needs to feel sincere.

While Johnny Cash’s cover of Nine Inch Nails’ Hurt has recently become the most common answer to “What is your favorite cover song?” that particular tune -while beautifully done – is not something I’d put on my own list simply because it is presented the same way as the original.  Same with Gary Jules’s Mad World (Tears for Fears). While the cover is well done, I think it’s popularity came more from the way it was used in Donnie Darko than from any originality brought to the tune.

The first cover song that left its mark on me was Vanilla Fudge’s rendition of  The Supremes” You Keep Me Hanging On. Released just one year after the original, the Vanilla Fudge version takes a dance oriented song and turns it onto a psychedelic trip. I remember being fascinated with the fact that someone could take something that belonged to someone else and completely make it their own. Remnants of the original were still there, but they took the emotions inherent in the lyrics and put their own passion into it.

And that’s – to me – what makes a remake of a song great – taking the guts of the original and putting it another form. Here are some of my favorites:

The way Cake adds bursts of quiet anger and bitterness to Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive that were only implied but not vocalized in the original give the song a new feel and the tongue in cheek way in which most of the song is presented adds an even further dimension to it; it becomes Cake’s song.

It takes guts to take a very popular song and do something else with it. Ted Leo makes a thing of beauty out of Kelly Clarkson’s Since You Been Gone.

The Queens of the Stone Age takes Billy Idol’s White Wedding and turns into something dark and ominous.

Rammstein turns Depeche’s Mode’s Stripped upside down, making it something far more sinister than the original ever intended.

Ben Folds makes Dre’s Bitches Ain’t Shit sound completely out of context.

The Dickies manage to make the Moody Blues Knights in White Satin actually sound interesting.

In Flames version of Depeche Mode’s Everything Counts does just about everything a good cover song should do.

Type O Negative doing a polar opposite version Neil Young’s Cinnamon Girl.

Aztec Camera’s cover of Van Halen’s Jump is possibly my favorite cover of all time. It was the b-side to the 12 inch version of their single Oblivious. I listened to Oblivious once, flipped the record over and then listened to this for about four hours straight.

I’d love to add to my collection of covers. What are your favorites?

(For more fabulous covers, check out the Cover Song Appreciation tumblr)

But for some of us, World Cup is a big deal. We’re watching not just to cheer our own team on, but because we love the game. We’ll watch it through to the bitter end, with or without our country’s presence.   Although I have to admit, they hype about Saturday’s game pitting The United States against England just might make the rest of the matches seem anti-climatic.

I have a couple of links of interest for those of you following the  World Cup, but first we must rock out. What better way to prepare for the action with a playlist of songs to get you pumped up for all the rivalry, chants, insults and, yes, football.

Weezer – Represent
Rivers tweeted yesterday that the band came up with a new song to honor the US team. It’s available as a free download on iTunes as of this morning. Of course, someone already made a video for it.

We Are Scientists – Goal! England!
A Brooklyn band which admits to knowing very little about the World Cup wrote a song for England. Who knows. Maybe they have a lot of English fans.

Shakira – Waka Waka (Time for Africa)
Her official contribution to the World Cup. Waka Waka? No idea what Fozzy Bear has to do with football, but if you’re into a little ass shaking with your football matches, here you go.

R. Kelly – A Sign of Victory (the official FIFA World Cup Anthem for 2010)
R. Kelly knows how to play it. Two sports related, family friendly anthems – “I Believe I Can Fly” and now the World Cup anthem – are bookends to his rather sordid history. Who’s going to care about his epic anthems of midgets in closets or peeing on young girls when he can make people pump their fists in the air and believe?

Ricky Martin – La Copa de la Vida
From the 1998 World Cup. Say what you want about Ricky Martin, but he knows what a cup anthem is supposed to be about. Unlike his contemporaries Kelly and Shakira, he made a song that feels like a football song. You want to chant along with it. It makes you want to be in a stadium with thousands of people singing it.

The Bouncing Souls – Ole
One of the best things about football matches is the chants and songs from the fans. This is a feel good football song that encompasses that feel. I played this so much during the 2006 World Cup that my kids have nightmares about it.

The Business – Maradona
Nobody makes songs about football like The Business. They have a ton of them, but it’s Maradona that will win your heart if you  know your World Cup history. 1986 World Cup. Hand of God. Look it up. This song is a scathing indictment of Maradona. And it’s fun to sing.

Angelique Kidjo and John Legend – Move On Up
It features Bono because there’s some unwritten rule that Bono has to have a presence in everything.

Dizzee Rascal & James Corden – Shout For England
Rap, rhymes, chants and a sampling of Tears For Fears’ “Shout,” this official song for England has got everything a good stadium anthem should have.

Hopefully these songs will get some of you slackers into World Cup mode. We need the whole nation behind our team! Even if you hate that I have used the word football instead of soccer, or you think of this game as something little kids play at some ungodly hour on Saturday morning while their hungover parents sit on the sidelines wondering why the hell they had kids, you can find a way to feel like you’re part of the World Cup action.   Think of it as misplaced national pride. When else are you going to shout USA! USA! USA! these days without someone thinking Sarah Palin gave you a box of tea bags to say that?

See, World Cup is for everyone. It works out great for people who measure their patriotism by bumper stickers because they can drape themselves in a flag and just call it football frenzy. And it also works out for people who have been down on the state of the union because they can wave a flag and shout America, fuck yea! without feeling like they are betraying their ideals. It’s all about the soccer ball. No, the football.

Those links I promised you:

World Cup Online - the blog and the twitter.
2010 FIFa World Cup

Awesome interactive calendar of all the games

First game kicks off today at 9:30 (EST) – South Africa v. Mexico