by Chris Willie Williams

I may be paraphrasing or misremembering entirely, as I cannot locate any corroborating evidence for this memory, but I recall Tara Key of the fine indie-rock band Antietam discussing what she called “the moment” when recording songs. Essentially, she used that term to describe little details in songs that push them from being good enough to great. Moments where something is added or changed in a song and your lizard brain gets goose bumps, turning you into some sort of hybrid reptile/bird creature. (Again, I do not affirm that this is the exact metaphor Key used when defining “the moment.”)

by Chris Willie Williams

A lot of my colleagues here have written about how their parents' specific musical taste and collections acted as a starting pistol for their lifelong musical geekiness. I can't say the music my own parents liked was necessarily was a catalyst for my music gluttony (though I do admit to an enduring fondness for Hall & Oates). However, they wholly supported my obsession with music. Mom and Dad would drive me to bookstores to purchase album guides, so I'd know where to start my journey. (The Trouser Press Guide to '90s Rock was essential to me, and the SPIN Alternative Record Guide is far more informative than you'd think.) Once I then had a plan of action, they'd happily drive me to record stores so I could look through the CDs with the intense focus of a crime scene investigator. They were also willing to often listen to my albums in the car when we were riding around. They may not have shared my particular taste—they like R.E.M., but They Might Be Giants drove them positively garanimals—but Dad and Mom understood it. 

by Chris Willie Williams

Let's say there's an artist you love so much that you are convinced that you'll always buy every album they release, for the rest of their career or until you lose all your money in some sort of medical supplement pyramid scheme. How many disappointing albums would this artist have to release before you finally gave up? I know it varies from artist to artist, depending on such things as the intensity of your bond, how much you dislike their new output, and whether you possess what scientists call The Rock Geek Completism Gene, but in general, I'm curious to know how far you all will let an artist skate by solely on long-lasting goodwill.

by Chris Willie Williams

There are countless songs that have made me laugh in my rock-geek career, from Fannypack's naughty double-dutch chant “Cameltoe” to Bill Callahan's somewhat more sophisticated “Eid Ma Clack Shaw,” whose final verse cleverly yanks the rug out from under the truly affecting lyrics preceding it. But it's rare to find a song that continues to make me laugh no matter how many times I revisit it.