I’m back in Szolnok, after an excellent trip to New Hampshire (with forays into Maine), Connecticut, and Massachusetts. I have been thinking a lot about old-school song recommendations: the kind where someone personally recommends a song, album, or artist to you. This post is dedicated to a few recommendations that have been important in my life. It’s hard to make a selection, but these stand out because of the music and the memories.

In high school, in my first summer at Tanglewood (I spent two summers in the Young Artists Instrumental Program), I realized within hours of meeting my roommate that we weren’t going to get along, and that someone down the hall was much more compatible. We quickly switched roommates (officially or unofficially, I don’t remember), and from then on, Laura and I were inseparable. Our days were filled with music (orchestra, chamber music, practicing, private lessons, evening concerts), but in our free evening hours, we played cards and listened to the records she had brought with her. I had been brought up on the belief that popular music was junk (which it often is), so I was surprised and glad to discover something serious in Billy Joel’s album The Stranger, which we listened to over and over. I was drawn to the dark, adventurous music. I still love the title song, with the piano and whistling at the beginning and end, the punchy rhythm, the different qualities of his voice. This album, and the friendship that brought me to it, changed my idea of what serious music could be.

Then in college there was my friend Steve. I have mentioned him before. He loved Joni Mitchell and Bruce Springsteen, especially for their lyrics. He would point to passages in their songs, and his face would light up, his eyes would grow big, and shaking his hands for emphasis, he would say “yeah!!!” He insisted that I come with him to hear the Roches in concert. (New Haven, Toad’s Place, spring of 1982.) What a concert and beginning that was. Here they are singing “The Hammond Song” just as I remember hearing it then. I went on from there to listen to their first three albums over and over. I am so sorry that Maggie Roche (the one on the right in the video, with the deep alto voice) died in 2017.

Skipping ahead to my graduate school years, I come to the Pixies, recommended to me by Joe, who could talk about each album and its particular brilliance (granted, he was less enthusiastic about Planet of Sound than about the others). This opened up a new world of indie, underground, alternative rock—not entirely new to me, but now emphatic, bursting with life. In their songs, the nonsensical lyrics make sense within themselves; the words bite out their own territory. The abrupt rhythm and tempo changes, the sweet melodies and screaming, the presence of each of the musicians, especially Kim Deal and Black Francis—all of this filled my ears at the time and later (and led me to the Breeders and much more). Here’s the official video of “Debaser,” the first song on their Doolittle album.

That led to all sorts of things: playing in my first band, writing different kinds of songs (I was already writing songs, but they took new forms), listening to lots of music, moving to San Francisco, where music filled my comings and goings, my wakings and sleepings. There I played music with several people who had an influence on me: in particular, my bandmate Chris, who one day put on a song by Hannah Marcus (who I have never heard before) and said, “This is you.” (I later came to know her music and Hannah herself; we are friends to this day.) Here’s the song he played, “Demerol.”

Not too long after that, I began playing music with the fearless and frolicsome Greg Giles, before he formed his band 20 Minute Loop. We worked out a few songs and played as a duo at a coffeehouse. He recommended reams of music, but one album stands out because of the way it became beloved: Camper Van Beethoven’s Key Lime Pie. I played that album over and over on many a solitary road trip. “Jack Ruby” is one of my favorites for its off-rhymes and non-rhymes, its wailing guitar, its drums, its special character. It has social commentary, but it is so elliptical that you can enjoy the lyrics without knowing what they are about. This is just a fraction of the Camper Van Beethoven repertoire, and a wonderful fraction it is.

Over time I was growing more and more drawn to melancholic songs mixed with raw sound. So when Cory Vielma (who now has his own radio show) introduced me to Art of Flying, I found a kind of home that keeps changing, lighting up, and darkening, with lyrics that hold the ages and shine through time. Here’s a song I have not brought up yet on this blog: “I Lost My Ring,” from isevergone. There’s much, much more (and a new album is on the way, I hear).

Speaking of playing music: I have brought this up before, but it was an honor to play cello on the title song of their album Though the Light Seem Small. We recorded in their historic (and sadly now defunct) studio the Barn in Questa, New Mexico. Spending that time in the Barn was a treat and a great life event, and the song turned out beautiful.

Hannah Marcus has recommended all sorts of music to me, and has introduced me to music by playing it (i.e. by being in bands that play music other than her own, such as Matana Roberts’ band). One of my favorite recommendations from Hannah was Smog (Bill Callahan); here I started to hear new combinations of sounds, new shapes, extraordinary lyrics. He remains one of my favorite songwriters; his work brings me to awe. Here’s “Justice Aversion” from his album Dongs of Sevotion.

I can’t possibly conclude a post on music recommendations without mentioning my friend Tara. We have listened together, gone to shows together, given each other albums, over the decades. So I’ll finish with a song by Robyn Hitchcock, whose music she introduced me to at least twenty years ago. This (“Glass Hotel”) is one of his best-known songs, but I still remember the hush at concerts when he played it. You can hear different influences, including punk, in this quiet acoustic performance.

Wait! There’s still more! Even though David Dichelle (the DJ of WFMU’s Continental Subway) chooses music for his large audience, not primarily for individuals, there’s still something personal about the choices (also, the message board allows us to comment and banter over the course of the show). He has played many of my Hungarian recommendations, from Cz.K. Sebő to Denevér to Thy Catafalque, and his shows continually introduce me to music from around the world, in many languages and styles. One of my recent favorites is “Ikersuaq” by the Canadian group Quantum Tangle.

This is just a sliver of the songs, musicians, albums that have been recommended to me over the years; my life now involves them all somehow. Tonight I go to hear Józsi Hegedűs (recommended to me indirectly by several people); his songs have a trace in common with everyone above, as well as “cigánywestern” (Gypsy western) elements and his own unique style. I love his debut solo album. So I’ll end here with his wonderful “Szeretőmnek” (“To My Valentine”), which I will surely hear tonight (and which David Dichelle has played on Continental Subway). The video is fantastic; you can enjoy it and the song without knowing Hungarian—and here’s a translation if you’d like one.

That is all for now. For other posts in the song series, go here.

I made a few additions and edits to this piece after posting it.