The same, but different

When you're about to have a kid, everyone tells you that your life will never be the same, everything will change, etc. So far this does seem to be true for the most part, which is probably why everyone says it. I do think about things a little differently now; I'm responsible for another human life; poop, pee and vomit are a much larger part of my everyday routine; and my morning wake-up time ranges from 6 am to 10:30 am.

But, plenty of things inevitably stay the same. Amazon.com inadvertently epitomized this dichotomy recently with one of its pseudo-personalized recommendations based on my buying habits. It read:

"Customers who bought items in your Recent History also bought: The No-Cry Sleep Solution by Elizabeth Pantley and I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass by Yo La Tengo."

Jack White is my homeboy

Last week the new issue of Paste was delivered to my doorstep, then to my mailbox, and from there I took it inside my house. Paste is, in my humble opinion, the best magazine out there for music fans. The writing is superb, highlighting an eclectic variety of great bands without catering to indie rock snobbery/fandom. And the mix CD included with every issue ain't bad, either.

The current issue features a lengthy interview with Jack White (and occasionally Meg White) of The White Stripes. It's one of the more in-depth interviews with the man I've read, and it made me like him. A lot. In fact, I never realized I had so much in common with him. (Kudos to writer Jason Killingsworth for tackling some big issues.) I found myself admiring Jack and completely agreeing with him about the state of music journalism and indie rock in general:

Paste: It seems like the journalistic community is partially responsible for the cycle of building up rock stars and then ripping them down. Like a kid who makes a bunch of sand castles and then gleefully stomps all over them.
JW: I've never understood it. . . . It's ridiculous to champion underdogs and once they succeed to abandon them. . . . If you abandon a band as soon as other people like them, then you don't love it for the right reasons. You like music for identity. That's not loving music. Loving art for its own sake means you don't care what people think.

Now, I admit I feel a pang of disappointment, maybe even some disillusionment, when a little-known band I like strikes it big, but that's my fault, not the band's. If a band can stay true to its sound and sell out an arena, bully for those guys.

Reading on, I found out that Jack and I have a similar opinion about God as well, at least at the core. He says:

I just want to know what the truth is. I mean that's what I'm looking for. In my opinion, there's no way God looks at things from 14 different angles. I see God as knowing only one truth, and that's it. There's no other opinion about it. And I want to know what that one truth is.

Amen, brother.

That said, I sometimes wear black with colors other than white and red, and there's also no confusion about whether the lady in my life is my wife or my sister. So I guess the similarities only go so far.

The National

I'm a sucker for melodic, mellow indie rock, and The National's new album, Boxer, satisfies me like a consecutive three hours of sleep (a good thing). Matt Berninger's baritone is soothing and addictive, yet not cloying as he sings of relationships on the brink of implosion and the malaise of white-collar middle-classdom on songs such as "Racing Like a Pro":

You’re pink you’re young you’re middle-class
they say it doesn’t matter
Fifteen blue shirts and womanly hands
you’re shooting up the ladder

Your mind is racing like a pro, now
Oh my god it doesn’t mean a lot to you
One time you were a glowing young ruffian
Oh my god it was a million years ago

Sometimes you get up and bake a cake or something
sometimes you stay in bed
sometimes you go la di da di da di da da
til your eyes roll back into your head

Your mind is racing like a pro, now
Oh my god it doesn’t mean a lot to you
One time you were a glowing young ruffian
Oh my god it was a million years ago

You’re dumbstruck baby
You’re dumbstruck baby now you know

The tracks have no dynamic builds or swells to speak of, just an organic steadiness that somehow doesn't become tiresome. There's some Brit-pop influences, with much less of the alt-country feel of some of the five-piece's earlier work. And it doesn't hurt that the band originally hails from Ohio, and that Sufjan Stevens contributes on piano. Definitely in my top five favorite albums of 2007 so far.

Pick it up at your local record store or DRM-free at emusic.