Before we start here, I wanna get two things outta the way that are most important before continuing with this Boogiemporium entry. Firstly, I’m a music hater. I hate on levels that are unconceivable. I hate your music. Geez, I hate some of my music. I’m unusually critical. Sometimes I hate an artist’s music not on the merit of the music, but on I believe of the artist on a personal level even though I’ve never met them. I hate the Eagles because I think Don Henley is one of the biggest chumps ever. I hate Fleetwood Mac. I hated Times They Are A-Changin’. I hate almost every record that has come out in the last two years. I’ve even hated on Bach during the course of this last year on Raising Elle. I laugh at people that say, “Oh, I like all music,” because I know their game. They want so badly to be accepted by their friends in passive conversation about music. They think if they say they “hate” certain music they’ll be outcasted, called a racist, banned from the circle. I celebrate my hate for certain music. I’ll tell you exactly why I hate it and won’t give you the opportunity to disagree. In that way, I’m a hater of the worst kind. So, there’s that. Secondly, there is only one person on the face of this earth that can sneak one past goalie and get me to listen to (if not like also) music that I have no business listening to in all of my furious hate and detest. She’s used sheer force and persistence to wrangle me into singing harmony to Air Supply. I’ve sung Barbra Streisand thanks to her. I respect Justin Timberlake because of her. And solely because of her. That’s my lovely wife. If you wanna crack my shell of hate, you can’t go directly to me. You’ll have to go through my lovely wife. If it gets her endorsement, as an extension of myself, that’s usually good enough for me. As painful as it is sometimes, I usually come around with her endorsement.
One such record is today’s Boogiemporium selection. If you’re one of the few that respect my musical tastes and actually take my word as authority on music, please turn the other way. Come back another day. I’ll give you a moment to do so.
Okay, those who “stayed,” let’s talk about this zany and wildly entertaining offering from Lisa Loeb and Elizabeth Mitchell. Sure, you remember Lisa Loeb…that pasty vegan in librarian glasses who penned “Stay” and changed the opinions of millions of guys regarding that nerdy little girl in Chemistry class.
**I’ll add really quick that the “vegan” comment was only an allegation and I quickly checked to ensure that she was, in fact, a vegetarian only to find out that she is. It’s her complexion. Her often emaciated and exhausted pout. Nothing against vegetarians. Coming from West Texas where the smell of cow manure can makes a stomach ravenously roar, you can just tell those who getting up on the red meat. Around here, they’re typically angry and frustrated only because of the lack of vegetarian options. We think that if you’re a vegetarian, that means you can eat chicken. West Texans just don’t get it. I’m mean, you’re a freaking alien with eight heads if you’re a vegetarian in the Panhandle. Hopefully they didn’t lurch and leave you like they did E.T. Is there a difference between “vegetarian” and “vegan”?
Catch the Moon, marking the 2007 collaboration between Lisa “Sexy Nerd” Loeb and Elizabeth Mitchell. Mitchell’s a veteran of the children’s music realm and definitely takes the lead on the album’s vocals and song writing, but to Lisa’s credit, her fantastically crafted harmonies give the recording a depth and dimension, a hypnotic quality that can put a sleeper hold on any little infant.
Man, just look at that cover. That’s the kinda packaging that usually gets me running in the opposite direction. That’s the one reason I’m glad my lovely wife bought this digitally so that I didn’t see the cover art before hearing it. Had I seen a CD sitting on the table with that cover, I would’ve quickly laughed, made some snide comment about how I don’t allow our little girl to listen to such garbage and then reached for Coltrane. Truth is, Catch the Moon is a delightful collection of both dull-abies and infantile train songs that gently crawl along. They’re invasive. They kill you softly. You’re listening one moment and you’re mind’s rejecting the sounds you hear, next thing you know you’re singing along, then you’re falling asleep, then you’re singing it them the next day while you’re got your front side tucked into a urinal at work thinking where did I hear that freaking song?
“Little Red Caboose” and the cover of Dylan’s “New Morning” are definite highlights. Yeah, I sing the “choo choo” part on “Little Red Caboose.” Also a definite highlight for me is “Big Rock Candy Mountains” where Mitchell and Loeb sing about a wonderland of sweets and eats and you can climb in peppermint trees and drink from the soda water streams. Yeah, this is some Willie Wonka steez here.
But the true charm of this record resides in both it’s ability to entertain the 30-something parents it’s marketed towards and the ability to put a kid like Mr. Sandman. My lovely wife insisted we give Ellison a dose of Catch the Moon the other day before we went out to a church event and it chilled that girl out in only about ten minutes. That’s an impressive mark.
I guess this is my new normal. I gotta find my allies in the kid’s music realm. If that’s Lisa Loeb than so be it. In the same way you can’t have your baby eating liver and onions at five months old, you can’t raise her on a strict diet of Coltrane and the Bar Kays. You gotta have some Lisa Loeb and Elizabeth MItchell in there. They’re the safe and easy-down Enfamil of the kid’s music world.
All together, we’re gonna go ahead and give Catch the Moon four Dirties on the strength to relax and chillout baby Ellison Jayne without completely annoying mommy and daddy. Go ahead and hate on me. Tell me I’m losing my touch. I’m getting soft. Bring on the tidal waves of hate. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it out. Just wait, you’ll understand.