EXTRA CRITICUM

The Vanity Files

I admit it. I'm vain.

But I'm not only a writer and a music industry executive - both of which are somewhat "behind the scenes." I'm also a performer.

And performers must, by trade, be vain.

From a Pile of 45s to the Digital Playlist: My History of Music Curation

I miss playing music for other people. Sure, my love of listening to music was a major driving force in seeking a career in the music industry, but for me, music is not only to be received, but also to be shared.

And since I have no great musical talents of my own - despite a year of French horn, the praise of my grandmother during piano lessons, and chorus roles in several high school and college musical theater productions - I can only share other people's music.

My Love Affair with Katy Perry

I'm not sure when it happened.

Somehow, sometime, somewhere along the way...

...I've fallen in love with Katy Perry.

It's a strange thing because I was totally unimpressed with her when she made her big pop music debut, strikingly untitillated by her kissing a girl and liking it, completely apathetic to who or what was hot or cold. I mean, she's not a very good singer. And although those might be good pop songs - they certainly were pop hits - I just don't like them very much.

So to what do I attribute my current love affair, my affection that borders on obsession?

I have two theories: context and intoxication.

Billy Idol Always Leaves Me Wanting More, More, More

I saw my sixth Billy Idol concert last night. 

Interestingly, as a nearly 35 year old, none of the prior five concerts occurred in the 80s. 

Or even the early 90s.

Desert Island Discs

It's rare that any of us would ever actually be stranded on a desert island, but for some reason, we humans love to make lists in anticipation of such an event.

This weekend, I am moving into a spare room in an apartment in Astoria, Queens, which - after nine years of living alone in a studio apartment - might as well be a desert island.

I planned to put most of my stuff in storage, and give the rest away, a purging process that has been more than difficult. When choosing what to keep and bring with me, I thought it might be nice to bring my remaining vinyl records and my stereo rack system with turntable. I liked the idea of playing records in Queens, alone in my room, desolate, lonely, longing.

But still, I couldn't put all of my CDs in storage. After 13 years of working in the music industry, and having inherited my father's penchant for record-shopping, I've got a lot of CDs. So I allowed myself to cherry-pick the few discs that I absolutely cannot live without, for however long I will be in that month-to-month living situation in Queens while I look for a job (or a life) elsewhere.

I figured I'd take about 30 discs with me.

Spirit In the Material World

As I'm clearing out my apartment in anticipation of moving at the end of the month - something I've been having a hard time with - I'm sorting my physical music into three piles: pack, digitize, or giveaway.

"I just don't understand what the point of CDs is anymore," a friend said to me, after hearing how I'd spent my day dismantling a wall of them and boxing them up.

"So, what, you just download everything?" I asked, blinking.

A Case of Multiple Identities

I've gotten fairly used to my existential crisis, consistently rebuking the question "What do you do?" when the questioner really means "What do you do for a living?"

But I was unprepared for an identity crisis, when being asked "Who are you?" forced me to choose one thing, and I don't think it was the right thing at all.

I've Got Great Ears for Radio

After 13 years of slaving away in the music industry, and eventually equating music with work, I'm finally falling in love with music again.

What did it?

Listening to the radio.

Trying to Unhook Myself

At the end of last week, I called Time Warner Cable to cancel my digital cable service.

Ever since I spent a month in the California desert last summer, when I had no TV access at all and watched just a handful of shows on my laptop, I haven't been watching much television. In cold months of deep depression, I might troll Turner Classic Movies or Classic Movies On Demand for some Cary Grant movie to transport me out of my apartment and into some exciting, exotic place anywhere but here. But now that the weather is nice, Guiding Light was cancelled, LOST was a big disappointment, and VH1 plays music videos too early in the morning for me to catch, I don't really see the point of flipping through the channels to find something remotely interesting to distract me from my own life, or to just have noise on.

A Work In Progress

Last night I found myself at the BMCC campus in Tribeca to see a workshop production of a new play called The Apology by Dolores Rice. A friend of mine had been cast in the staged reading, and since my recent freelance life has required me to take advantage of as much free entertainment as possible, I happily reserved tickets.

It helped that I knew Andrew McCarthy was also going to be in it.