There are things I cannot explain: UFOs, quantum physics … why I love Eddie Rabbitt’s I Love a Rainy Night.

It seems to be some residual leftover from my childhood. And even then I can’t quite recall when I first heard the song or why I liked it so much. I was so curious I had to call my mom recently to ask. We lived in suburban Chicago until I was about 8, and she said there were at least six or seven top-40 radio stations at the time. So no matter what, if I was being fussy in the car, she could keep switching the stations until, inevitably, I Love a Rainy Night, which hit No. 1 on the charts in 1981, would come on. (Fascinating to think how ubiquitous and influential commercial radio once was; I think I have a total of about three preset stations now on my car radio, one of them being NPR.)

Twenty-six years later, I’m not ashamed to say I still like the song, cheesy as the premise of it might be – rain washes away problems, sun equals new day, etc. Rain as cure-all isn’t exactly an original analogy. Nevertheless, the chipper beat (hand claps? I love hand claps) and catchy chorus are the stuff of top-40 gold, and probably the reason seven such stations could exist in one market at one point in time.

A-side: I Love a Rainy Night.
B-side: Short Road to Love.
Catalog #: E-47066.
Found: Don’t recall.

I’m amazed that after all these years I can still rattle off the lyrics to so many old rap songs that I used to rock in elementary and middle school. In a way, I guess it’s like riding a bike. But, as I make my way into my 30s, I worry my brain capacity isn’t making room for more important information than, say, the words to Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock’s Joy and Pain. I’m not really sure when (if) this will ever come in handy, but I have it at the ready just in case. So it was kinda hard to pass up this 45 (the remix!) when I saw it at Amoeba Records in Hollywood.

If nothing else, Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock at least avoided – just barely – one-hit wonder territory. It Takes Two and Joy and Pain certainly qualify as two legitimate hits, at least in my mind. And in Dr. Turk’s, too. And, really, when a song is recited in Scrubs – 12 years after its creation, no less – hasn’t it reached the zenith of pop culture? I think we should just be thankful it wasn’t Zach Braff singing it.

Little-known fact: “Rob Base is one of the most popular rap stars of all time.” Who knew?

Click for full-size scan.

A-side: Joy and Pain (remix).
B-side: Times Are Gettin’ Ill.
Catalog #: PRO-5247.
Found: Amoeba Records ($2.99).

How do you make a Low song just a little more eerie, a little more mysterious? How about stripping away the vocals and ramping up some electronics.

With Drums and Guns (2007), Low headed off into some unchartered territory (for them at least), using quite a bit of loops and electronic effects. This version of Breaker keeps the foundation of the original (the minimal drum beat, the hand claps, organ), but adds another layer of digital decoration. It’s still sparse enough to have a chilling effect, even without Alan Sparhawk’s lyrics: “Our bodies break / and the blood just spills and spills.” It’s almost weird how a version that sounds awfully similar to its original can evoke such different emotions.

I’m sure Drums and Guns has divided Low loyalties even more than 2005’s The Great Destroyer, which, by Low standards, came across as pretty straightforward rock. Now, I’m not a huge fan of electronic music, per se. But if you can use it as sparingly and artfully as Low does on Drums (and this version of Breaker), then what’s not to like?

A-side: Hatchet (Optimimi Version).
B-side: Breaker (Dub Plate).
Catalog #: SP 742.
Found: Stinkweeds (99 cents).

I finally saw The Fearless Freaks, the documentary about the Flaming Lips. I’ll admit to not being the biggest Lips fan, a casual listener at best. The Fearless Freaks didn’t make me run out and buy their whole catalog, though I did listen to Soft Bulletin the next day.

More than anything, I think the documentary was brilliant in how it humanized the guys in the band. When you see a guy (Wayne Coyne) who is mowing his lawn in the same Oklahoma neighborhood in which he grew up – an area he described as not horrible but not great – you tend to relate a little more than to the person than the character on stage caked in fake blood and crowd surfing in a gigantic inflatable bubble. These are just pretty average dudes who happen to lead pretty awesome lives.

One of the most telling illustrations of this in the film comes when you see footage of the live spectacle before it cuts away to Coyne literally hand-washing his clothes in a bathtub at home to get the fake blood out.

For pure artistic power, though, it’s hard to match the intensity of the scene in which Steven Drozd is preparing to inject heroin and, at the same time, speaking almost matter-of-factly about how it’s taken all his money and everything he’s owned. And when his then-girlfriend talks of how she feels Drozd was being used because he could be high yet producers and bandmates knew he could still knock out a part in the studio.

In terms of music, it’s no surprise that the documentary reveals She Don’t Use Jelly as the breakthrough moment for the band. I think we all saw that episode of Beverly Hills, 90210.

A-side: She Don’t Use Jelly.
B-side: Turn It On (bluegrass version).
Catalog #: 18131
Found: Amoeba Records in Hollywood.

When I first got a hold of Paul Simon’s Graceland – which came out in 1986, making me 9 years old at the time – I felt like it was the first time I’d really listened to grown-up music. It was that weird point of convergence as a child, accepting an album that (gasp) my parents would enjoy, possibly even more than I would. (In later years, that common ground, at least in terms of my dad’s tastes, would be known as Cat Stevens.)

It’s fair to say Simon resurrected world music with Graceland and Rhythm of the Saints because of the albums’ immense popularity. So I suppose it begs the question: What took so long for an indie band to dabble in the genre?

Enter Vampire Weekend, a New York group comprised of four Columbia graduates. If you didn’t know better – but I do because I just saw them live on July 15 – you’d think their instrumentation was made up of some elaborate African ensemble, a la Ladysmith Black Mambazo (which, oddly enough, has a MySpace page). So that four dudes in their early 20s pull off a sound that is influenced by Simon’s world phase with a more traditional rock setup (guitar, bass, drums, keyboard) is impressive.

In a live setting, the tempo is a bit faster, though no less interesting. Drummer Chris Tomson doesn’t put drum heads on the bottom of his toms, which probably accounts for the bongo-like sounds he can produce with them. (A side note: A possible trend of that free-flowing hippie-like dance seemed to break out among three people at the show; this should be nipped in the bud immediately.)

I’ll admit: The real reason Vampire Weekend intrigued me was a press photo sent out that shows the four members relaxing around a table on top of which rests a vinyl copy of Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet. A friend of Public Enemy is a friend of mine. Fortunately, it was worth my time because Vampire Weekend might be one of the more intriguing indie-rock stylists going today.

Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa encapsulates their sound perfectly: guitar notes plucked low on the neck with Afrobeat-style drums. Suddenly, world music is cool again.

A-side: Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa.
B-side: A-Punk.
Catalog #: n/a.
Found: Purchased at live show ($5; yellow vinyl).

(For what it’s worth, this is one of the sturdiest 7-inches I have ever seen. Feels thicker than a frisbee, and quite a bit of care was taken with the packaging. You can buy it here.)

This fantastic guest post comes courtesy of Hunter Mack, the man behind Macktronic and Gold Robot Records, which has put out two great 7-inches so far: Panther’s How Well Can You Swim and Roman Ruins’ Releasing Me. Thanks to Hunter, who touches on a couple of great (aren’t they all?) James Brown tracks.

Originally released in 1979, this single features two tracks found on The Original Disco Man LP, one of the least-applauded efforts of James Brown’s career. The album, produced by Brad Shapiro (with a heavy hand, as he has song credits on all tracks), essentially shapes Brown’s traditional sound into a more disco-friendly package (as encouraged by the label). Disco Delivery has an excellent review of the entire LP and how it fits into JB’s catalog,

The A-side of this 45 is the track Star Generation, probably the most disco leaning and spaced-out song from the full-length. However, the B-side, Women Are Something Else, is the more interesting track. It’s essentially a rebuttal to his hit song It’s a Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World, but the lyrics show weird dichotomy in his approach.

After praising women with the line “I got to have my woman … So that I know I gotta treat her right … Because she’s somebody too …” and saying: “It’s no longer a man’s world … And I admit it” he off-handedly adds this at the end of the track: “They’re hard sometimes … you know they can be a … bitch! But they’re sweet …” On the LP version he later adds “Sometimes they say … I’m a bitch, too …”, as some sort of rationalization.

Coupling the lyrics above with Brown’s personal life outside of performances, this track offers an intriguing look into the monumentally talented, and often troubled, artist.

These are the original tracks off the album, while the 45 features tracks reduced in time to fit in a 45 format. Star Generation is reduced from 8:09 to 4:21 while Women Are Something Else changes from 6:01 to 4:36 in length.

A-side: Star Generation (LP version).
B-side: Women Are Something Else (LP version).
Catalog #: PD 2005.
Found: Rooky Ricardo’s Records on Haight Street in San Francisco.

Sometimes you just know a track was destined to be a B-side, an extra or “bonus” down the line. That certainly seems to be the case with this Silversun Pickups song off a 7″ that actually has two B-sides: Mercury and Table Scraps.

Neither would fit comfortably on the band’s debut LP, Carnavas, which is probably why the 7″ was packaged as bonus content when I bought the album on vinyl (a download coupon for digital versions of the B-sides also was included). They aren’t bad songs by any stretch. But it’s easy to see why these were left on the cutting-room floor.

Carnavas is a buzzsaw of a record, one that relies on momentum the band builds through its fuzzy and distorted tones. Mercury (5:38) and Table Scraps (6:16), both slower and more subtle songs, probably would have dampened the vibe of Carnavas. However, I repeat: They are not bad songs. In fact, they show a versatile side of Silversun, which probably also is the point of B-sides.

On Mercury, frontman Brian Aubert is breathier than normal, though his writing is still pretty cryptic: “When machines in your room can’t survive/and all your devices stand by, you’ll never know why.” The song really shines toward the end, when Aubert is repeating the chorus (”It’s my way”) and spaced-out guitars build a crescendo until it cuts off somewhat suddenly, like a cruel tease.

One side note: The labeling on the 7″ is erroneous. The side labeled Mercury is actually Table Scraps and vice versa.

Also, even though I have a digital copy of Mercury, the mp3 still is ripped from vinyl.

A-side: Mercury (really not an “A-side,” per se)
B-side: Table Scraps
Catalog #: DGB 7-20008
Found: Packaged as bonus 7″ with Carnavas full-length vinyl purchase at Stinkweeds.

(Note: A link yesterday from Idolator to the Gwen Mars post inspired me to go for two days in a row with a post here, which is nothing short of a small miracle.)

I posted this track when I first got it, and all but forgot about it until Leon, who deejays an 80s show on WCDB in Albany, NY, instant messaged me asking if I could send him an mp3. Sure, I said. But I had erased it from my hard drive, which meant reripping the vinyl, which meant listening to it again.

One question kept coming to mind: Why? Why did I buy it? (Well, it was only 50 cents.) And why a Spanish version? One language of this track is quite enough, thank you. But if you’re looking for kitsch factor, I guess you really can’t beat this.

The record itself and the picture sleeve offer just about zero information on who sings the Spanish version. All I could find came from Wikipedia (where else?), which says Mexican group Timbiriche recorded this version.

It probably doesn’t take a genius to realize that a Spanish version was probably a strike-while-the-iron-is-hot idea: more languages, more sales, more Mickey! If I could actually draw upon any of my two years of Spanish in college, I’d love to be able to actually write down the Spanish lyrics word for word and see how the translation plays out.

Can anyone think of any other songs that have been translated like this and released in the U.S.? I have a Spanish version of Elbow’s Mexican Standoff, which, you know, sorta makes sense and it sounds like Elbow frontman Guy Garvey actually singing it.

A-side: Mickey (Spanish version).
B-side: Thief on the Loose.
Catalog#: CHS 2665.
Found: Half-Price Books in Phoenix.

I don’t know why I liked Gwen Mars or why I (sigh) owned the group’s 1995 album Magnosheen. But I did, and perhaps talking about it will expunge some of that guilty residue left over from those days.

I think part of my attraction stemmed from a simple fact: The band opened for Catherine Wheel, one of my favorites, on a tour that included a stop in Tempe, Ariz. Looking back, I can’t figure for the life of me why CW would agree to that arrangement.

Nevertheless, I had a bit of a quick fling with Gwen Mars (who, sadly, doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page). In truth, Cosmic Dick (aside from the name) really isn’t all that bad (c’mon, humor me). They had the influences of the dying days of grunge and the ever-so-slight appearance of glam rock – a little makeup here, a little hair spray there.

If you can get past the teased hair, though, the reverb-ed guitars on Cosmic Dick are at least a distant cousin of what the Smashing Pumpkins did (and, admittedly, did a whole lot better). OK, so the lyrical content is lacking: “If you don’t know dick (or Dick?), you should know, yeah, my friend d/Dick.” That’s probably not a double entendre or anything, right?

A-side: Cosmic Dick.
B-side: Shrink.
Catalog#: 43805.
Found: PDQ Records in Tucson ($3).

I’ve just about finished with the 33 1/3 series book by Dan LeRoy on the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique, one of the few books in the series on hip-hop albums (though that looks to be leveling out with their new release schedule).

It’s a swift, detailed read on that watershed album, though the record’s impact probably never has stretched (and maybe never will) beyond its cult-like status. Licensed to Ill can probably be thanked/blamed for that. As chronicled in the book, the success of Licensed stirred financial feuds for the Beasties with Def Jam and boss Russell Simmons. (Though things weren’t particularly rosy moving forward with Capitol, either.) In any case, the Boys’ about-face from beer-swilling rabble rousers to weed-smoking visionaries (thanks in large part to the production team on Paul’s Boutique) is quite astounding.

She’s On It, a B-side on what I think is a reissue 45, is a leftover remnant from the kegger days, a Budweiser stain on the carpet that’s a reminder of the good times but a mark that will never come out.

From the opening bars of the metal-guitar riffs, and you just know Rick Rubin’s fingerprints were all over this. According to the liner notes on the Sounds of Science CD collection, Mike D says it was the first single for Def Jam as part of its new deal with Columbia. If it was recorded in 1985, it’s remarkable that this track was left of Licensed to Ill. You could basically toss this song anywhere into the Licensed playlist and nobody would be the wiser.

Maybe they left it out because it sounds too familiar – like, say, to Fight for Your Right, the A-side of this 45. (She’s On It did end up on the Krush Groove soundtrack.) The heavy riffs combined with the big-hair drum beat was a successful formula, and, for the time, it was new and exciting. Now, it probably seems far too simplistic. Think of how far production has come.

And we can all be thankful the Beasties have developed (somewhat) as lyricists. Consider:

“She acts like a nag – I don’t know how it started /
“Even when I’m chillin’ – she acts retarded.”

Yikes. And that rhyme pattern – A/A then B/B – pretty much carries on through the entire song. It’s sophomoric, but, again, what did we expect from the Beasties at the time? I’ve never been enthralled by the Beasties as lyricists (and, sorry, the “let’s all play our own instruments” phase just wore me out), but expectations of the Beasties always seemed in line with what they turned out: good-time hip-hop that never even pretends to be pretentious. There’s always a place for that.

A-side: (You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party!)
B-side: She’s On It
Catalog #: 13-08388.
Found: Record Swap Meet.