I've been in something of a rut lately.

Basically, I haven't been turned on to any great new music in a while. Nothing has gotten me excited.

Of course, by "new," I simply mean something I haven't heard before (or at least something I haven't listened to a lot). I don't know if I'm just being stubborn and unreceptive to music I haven't heard, or if I simply haven't heard anything good, but it's been a problem.

First, I went back through some old favorites, but to no avail. The Olivia Tremor Control and Animal Collective both re-piqued my interest for a spell, but neither lasted. Rehashing my Talking Heads collection also proved fruitful, but only briefly. The problem with music I've heard before is, basically, that I've heard it before.

My next step was to ask some friends for suggestions. I was recommended a lot of music, names I had heard and hadn't, but I still haven't gotten around to checking out very many of them. I'll get around to it eventually, but for now, that hasn't proven very helpful just yet, either. Good new music, like true love and telephone booths, is rarely found when searching for it. It only seems to pop out of nowhere, and usually when you don't even need it.

Next, I undertook a project I have mentioned here before and have been planning for a while (and something that occupied the cover and double truck of Venues this week): I plowed through a whole bunch of promo CDs I had received over the last few months. There was a lot of garbage, but there were also a few bright spots that I'll eventually go back to for a deeper listen. Because of the nature of the Herculean project, though, I was unable to dedicate too much time to any specific record and thus couldn't really get too into anything.

I think I'm expecting too much. I'm expecting to find another all-time favorite, when in reality I only need something to entertain me for a bit. I'm looking for another album that will blow me away, that I will be talking about reverently in a decade. The problem is, most of the records I speak of in such a way now took a little while to get into. I've never just listened to something once and said "This is my favorite thing ever." It takes time.

Luckily, help is on the way. You see, I don't have a car at school, but I'm going home for spring break, where I'll have access to the panacea of all musical woes: the car stereo. It's not that there are any great radio stations where I live, and the factory-installed stereo system in my second (or maybe third) hand Civic isn't anything to brag about, but there's something transcendent about listening to music while driving, especially when by yourself for a long time. It allows me to listen to something new, wholly unadulterated, and really take it in. I can guarantee that, by the time I get back to school after break, I'll have a few new favorites in my rotation.

Every party you hear it.
Every power hour you hear it.
Every sporting event you are more than likely to hear it.
Every cover band plays it at least once.
Yes, I'm talking about "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I'm guessing it's the most overplayed song in the history of recorded songs. Once that piano riff sets in everyone's eyes light up and joyous shouts are heard all over.
"JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL!" they will shout at deafening volume. The air guitarists will jump onto coffee tables or bar stools and play that opening lead guitar riff like it was the last lick that would ever be played.
I don't mean to come off bitter or like some cynical high schooler who hates everything popular, but I've really just had it with this song. I'm not saying it's a bad song, but I feel as if it is time we adopt a new favorite. It seems no matter where I am, whether it's Thon, a party, a football game, a hockey game, or even my own living room; it's always playing.
At first my relationship with this song was healthy. One of my best friends from St. Joe's loves this song and when entering college, my circle of friends decided we would call him whenever we would hear it, drunk or not.
If I actually kept this promise, both of our own phone bills would be more expensive than what Diablo Cody had to pay to receive the Best Original Screenplay Oscar.
But my dissatisfaction with Sunday's Oscar night aside, we need to pick a new sing-a-long song. Journey's time has come and gone. It's safe to say that if there's ever a danger of someone not believin', they'll play it on their own time.
"But, Rich, if you're so smart, then what's your suggestion!?"
Glad you asked humble reader. I now nominate Don McLean's "American Pie" to be the new drunk sing-a-long. Now, I am under 21 so I don't go to bars that frequently so I have no idea if this song is a staple of bar playlists or not, but if it isn't it damn well should be!
"But, Rich, it's like a gazillion minutes long!"
Damn straight it is! It's time that the human race (at least the alcoholic side) starts working on their attention spans. We need to memorize every lyric of this song and recite it without hesitation. Don't just be one of those guys who knows the chorus. Everyone knows the chorus. Hell, I had it memorized when I was six years old.
Singing along to "American Pie" brings a great sense of accomplishment when you finish. You'll be happier and feel less worthless. And most importantly, you'll feel more American ... I mean, come on, American is in the title! You can't get more patriotic than that!
So at your next party/social gathering/bar tour stop believin' in Journey and start drinking whiskey and rye while singing American Pie.

-- Rich

For last week's Arts in Review, I examined Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground's debut full length. I would not have heard about this band if not for the Internet and more specifically, web sites like MySpace and Purevolume (not to mention various message boards). This is of reasonable importance.

After an e-mail correspondence with the band's publicist, she mailed me a burned copy of the album, as there was no actual CD release (it was available only on vinyl and by digital download). The CD arrived quickly, but it didn't work properly, so the publicist uploaded the music and cover art to a third party download site, and then sent me a link. I downloaded the music, listened to it extensively, and then gave it an A-.

This was almost identical to the standard peer-to-peer music sharing that the RIAA constantly complains about, except for the fact it was perpetrated by someone within the industry itself.

The very fact that this seems appalling in any way is emblematic of how out of touch the RIAA is.

Ignoring the failed "snail mail" correspondence for a second, Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground spent basically $0 getting me their music. This is thanks to a new invention known as "the Internet."

Most of the music industry doesn't seem to have a very good handle on this whole "Internet" thing. As I've mentioned before, we get countless unsolicited records in the mail every week, and we're just a random college paper that reviews only a few albums a week, at most.

On an individual basis, it doesn't cost a record company a whole lot to mail us a CD. For postage and the cost of the physical product itself, it's only a couple bucks. The problem is, we rarely review any of these, and these companies obviously send these records to hundreds of other publications.

The point is: the record industry is always claiming the internet is costing them money, and yet they consistently ignore how much money it could save them. Before anyone takes the RIAA's gripes seriously, they really need to address their frivolous spending, and promotional records is only one of the problems.

As a music reporter, the Arts in Review page is my favorite part of the newspaper. The previews and futures I typically write afford me a greater deal of literary freedom than the typical straight news article anyway, but reviews allow me to really have some fun (and if you talk to some of my previous editors, perhaps too much fun).

But except for in the rarest of occasions, I can write at most one music review a week, and due to some changes in the way we do things, I'm not guaranteed the one-per-week I once was. This isn't a big deal, though; I'm still afforded more flexibility than nearly anyone else on the paper, and I'm now rarely stretched to review something uninteresting just for the sake of filling space. Plus, more other writers can throw their hats into the review game, which is always a good thing.

Believe it or not, though, more than two or three albums come out on a weekly basis. As such, we can't possibly review it all. Which is sad, because through our mailbox every week comes tons of unsolicited CDs, and not only don't we have enough space to review them all, I rarely have time to listen to a great many. For the big record companies, this isn't a huge deal -- for the most part, their publicity expenditures pale in comparison to their record sales. But when a smaller, independent label takes the time to send us one of the few hundred CDs they end up selling, it shows a little bit of effort, and we do appreciate that.

Sometimes they are re-releases, which can be good or bad (good: 25th Anniversary Edition of Thriller; bad: Footloose soundtrack). Sometimes they're just weird, like the one band whose press-release promised a speed-metal band with a lap steel.

One band even sent us a legitimate vinyl LP. I have relatives that don't even mail me stuff that nice.

So here's my promise. At some point this semester, I'm going to make up some lost time. It might be in Venues, it might be in the Finals Magazine, it might be in this very blog. Obviously they won't all get the same 10-15 inches that the other stuff gets, but they all deserve at least a spin or two.

And, obviously, they won't all be very good. In fact, I imagine a decent number of them will be legitimately terrible (although, admittedly, these are sometimes more fun to write). But if someone is willing to record an album, it deserves to be listened to. And at some point, I will, before these CDs stack too high.

Someday soon, I will share my findings with you.

- Adam

Holy crap.

If you ask me what the first thing I said after watching the movie There Will Be Blood, that's all I can really say.

Holy crap.

My jaw was dropped almost the entire 158 minutes of this film.

Holy crap.

OK, before this starts sounding like a badly written poem, I should probably explain why I'm talking about a movie when this is clearly a music blog. This isn't 'Nam, there are rules!

Well, I'll tell you why, good sir or madam. The music contained in this body slam of a film was downright fantastic. Not since my young ears heard the theme to Requiem for a Dream have I been so excited about a film score.

And who is responsible for this outstanding score? Of course, a member of Radiohead. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if Thom Yorke unveiled a new line of toasters that also buttered your toast for you. Radiohead will probably soon be responsible for everything righteous and good in this world (I may have compared Radiohead to God, but I haven't been to church for a while so the Big Guy may not have heard me).

Anyway, sacrileges aside, back to this magnificent score.

The music in There Will Be Blood is so haunting, so eerie and at the very same time so unforgiving. I think Ebert or some movie critic said this, but it's as if the score is a character itself. The camera seems to almost move in unison with the music, giving it an even more powerful feeling of exploration.

I actually bought this soundtrack before I even saw the movie. I was in City Lights Records, 316 E. College Ave., and just passing the time with a roommate when I saw it there for $8.99. I took a look at it and, combined with the beautiful cover art and the fact that Jonny Greenwood was the composer, I had to get it.

As I listened, it sounded very dark and scary. Like something out of a horror movie. But after watching this film, it is a completely new beast. The music has changed faces essentially.

This makes me think about other great soundtracks. Like previously mentioned, Clint Mansell and the Kronos Quartet's score for Requiem for a Dream and also The Fountain. Wendy Carlos's score for Clockwork Orange comes to mind. Who can forget Ennio Morricone's work on The Good, The Bad & The Ugly? John Williams, Danny Elfman, you get the point.

What all these compositions have in common is that the music works so well with the movie. In some cases, viewers become more excited for the music in the movie than the actual movie itself. There Will Be Blood could be classified as one of these films, but honestly, this film is a masterpiece itself.

I may be hyping the shit out of this, and if I am, I apologize but I rarely geek out when I see movies, but this is one of those times. If you're reading this blog so far, then my opinion has been interesting enough to get you this far, so take my advice.

Stop what you're doing. Stop learning. Get out of whatever online course you're currently trying to do work in. Stop playing Bloons. Stop doing whatever it is you do on your computer.

Go see this film now. If not for the movie, than for the score. The thing is freakin' fantastic. It'll make you say "Holy crap."

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you might have seen us complain a few times about the poor choices of musical acts chosen to play at the Bryce Jordan Center. I would like to offer a partial retraction of said complaints.

It's not that the BJC has suddenly started booking great acts. Rascal Flatts, Casting Crowns, Breaking Benjamin, Three Days Grace, Carrie Underwood, Keith Underwood: these are not the types of acts we're looking for, even if it might be what State College is looking for. The fact is, the BJC is on Penn State ground, and while I'm not entirely sure of the business model the stadium employs, I'm sure it's at least partially funded by my tuition, so it would be nice if it went toward something worth seeing.

That being said, the BJC has actually booked some decent non-musical acts for this and last semester. Sarah Silverman was pretty good, and Cirque du Soleil was fantastic. Will Ferrell should be funny, and I know Nick Swardson, Demetri Martin and Zach Galifianakis will be. I might be alone in being excited for "Walking with Dinosaurs," but whatever; it turns out I'm actually only 11 years old. Blue Man Group might kind of, sort of be music, but it's also comedy and performing arts, so for the sake of dichotomy, I'll leave it in the "good, non-musical" category.

The truth is, I don't think it would be economically feasible for a band I like to play the BJC. Of the bands I like, I can't imagine many would be able to fill the stadium, even in its intimate, 4,000-seat arrangement.

So the problem might not be that the BJC isn't trying; instead, it might just be my own interests. The bands I like are much more suited for a smaller venue -- say, 1,000 people at most. The Fiery Furnaces at Lulu's and Band of Horses at the State Theatre were both terrific shows, but neither of those venues holds more than five- or six-hundred people. The only legitimate mid-size venue is the Cell Block, which holds well over 900, but has only booked about a half dozen acts since its been open, few of which were remotely relevant.

So, in the eyes of this blog, most of our ire is now off of the BJC and onto the Cell Block, which still hasn't even tried to hold a candle to Crowbar.

Fergie? Really?!

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better than Nickelback selling out the Bryce Jordan Center, Fergie went and just made my freakin' dreams come true.

Fergie! Yes, this news is ferg-a-freakin-licious! Fergie, of the Black Eyed Peas, will be performing at Beaver Stadium during the Gridiron Bash, which I believe is some sort of fancy pep rally.

What a great event this will be. I mean, I don't know about you other football fans, but nothing makes me get more pumped than slamming back some beers, cheering on the blue and white and listening to pop masterpieces like "London Bridge" and "Fergalicious."

I'm so glad Penn State didn't get that lame band ZZ Top to perform. I mean, honestly who wants to hear rock music during a football pep rally? Not this guy. It's Fergie or nothing!

After I purchase tickets for this life changing event, I'm going straight to Wal-Mart to buy a gallon of paint (I assume Wal-Mart would have gallons of paint at their disposal) and some arts and crafts supplies. When I get back I'm going to turn on some Fergie, put the ticket in safe keeping and then just drink the entire gallon of paint to my face. But before I do that, I might make one of those cool glittery t-shirts to wear for the performance. Maybe I'll have it say "I [heart] Fergie" or "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard." She sang that right?

Every week the Collegian publishes a bunch of concert previews. There's one in just about every issue, and usually another few in Venues. But no matter how well-written they are (and since I've written a ton myself, you know they're well-written), they always lack something:

The music itself.

Yeah, profiles and previews are nice, but if you're on the fence about going to a show, your best bet is to just listen to the band. At the Collegian, we're working on getting with the times and running audio and video with some of our stories, but until that's commonplace, just hit up the bands' websites and MySpace profiles.

This isn't exactly breaking news, but it probably deserves mention.

Whenever I interview a musician, one of the first questions I always ask is "How would you describe your sound?" It's a clichéd question, sure, but it's of relative importance when it comes to a concert preview.

As I've mentioned in past blog entries, musicians rarely have a good answer for this. At best, they offer something way too abstract to understand without hearing the music, and at worst, something along the lines of "rock and roll."

In their defense, it's not their jobs to describe their music. That's the job of music critics and reporters, and even we're not all that great at it.

But even when we do a good job, there really isn't a substitute for actually hearing the band. And while listening a few songs on a band's MySpace is hardly comparable to attending a live performance, it can at least give you a decent idea of whether or not the show might be worth your time.

Listening to a re-mixed version of a song my roommate and I had both heard, we got into a little debate. He said he liked the older version better, because the singer was more on-key. I liked the new one -- it was more visceral.

This epitomizes every musical disagreement we've ever had.

One of his favorite records is Sufjan Stevens' Illinois, an album I sort of respect but don't really enjoy. On the other hand, my favorite album ever is Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, an album he appreciates but doesn't enjoy to the same degree.

He likes Illinois because of its technical appeal. On paper, it's an interesting piece of music. There's all kinds of weird time signatures and stuff, and it's unique without sounding weird. I can appreciate being experimental without conceding accessibility, but my problem is that there's no reason for Stevens to make the music in the first place. It's a concept album about a state Stevens has only visited, and as such the lyrics come off like a middle school term paper. Sufjan Stevens is a fantastic musician, but he's got no idea what art is. His songs are just a vehicle for his music, and that's not enough for me.

Then we have In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Jeff Mangum doesn't play a chord progression that hasn't been played by a thousand different folk singers, and even though the lyrics are abstract and the instrumentation is absurd (Uielleann pipes, anyone?), there's something intangible to the album that shines through more and more every time I listen to it. Mangum put the whole of himself into his music, and even though it's not that sophisticated, it's expressive and more emotive than anything I've ever heard.

To make a sports analogy, Sufjan is Todd Marinovich -- everything looks good on paper, but there's something missing inside. He's got all the technical ability in the world, but without that one intangible thing, he's a total bust. Neutral Milk Hotel, on the other hand, is Tom Brady. On paper, he's a late round draft pick and a career back up: all the overused chord progressions and repetitively plaintive vocals of Mangum translate to Brady's lack of arm strength or mobility. But somehow, they both make it work. Brady may end up as one of the best quarterbacks of all time, and Mangum made my favorite album of all-time. Sufjan Stevens, on the other hand, much like Robo QB Todd Marinovich, will probably be forgotten.

There were two good shows this weekend featuring Pennsylvania bands: on Friday, Dr. Horsemachine and the Moneynotes, the Minor White, and Paul Rogai -- all from Scranton -- played, and on Saturday, Illinois and Drink Up, Buttercup (both from Doylestown) as well as Cloverleaf (State College via Pittsburgh) performed.

But that's not what I want to talk about.

Friday's show was at Chronic Town and Saturday's was at the State Theatre -- two decidedly different venues. But where they were similar (at least in this case) was the fact that, until the headlining bands took the stage, the audience at both locales remained seated. In Chronic Town, there are a bunch of armchairs and sofas and a lot of floor space, whereas at the State Theatre there are simply theater-style seats.

Maybe I was tired, maybe the bands weren't that energetic, or maybe I'm just a bad person, but I would have been fine sitting through the entire performance on either night. Typically, if I'm standing the whole show, I usually dance a little bit. Not a whole lot, but more than an average amount of judgment or self-awareness should dictate. But this weekend, I felt like sitting, and I think a lot of other people did, too.

I probably would have stayed seated for the duration of the night in both cases this weekend had the rest of the crowd (most of it, at least) not stood up and obstructed my view. And I think most of these people would have stayed seated, too, were it not for a few people standing. In both cases, I overheard cadres of people talking amongst themselves, saying to each other, "Why is everyone sitting? We need to get everyone up and moving!"

This is not the job of the audience, much less a small, small portion of it. The entire crowd was forced to stand -- perhaps against their will, perhaps not -- and it was solely because a few selfish concert goers thought it their duty to make everyone dance.

As an arts reporter, I don't get to break many stories, but here's a newsflash: people go to nightclubs to dance. They go to concerts to hear good music. Sometimes you can hear good music at a club, and sometimes you can dance at concert. These things are not mutually exclusive, but they're not required, either.