Ear Candy

As promised last week, I made it to Indiana today. The trip was uneventful—the best part was listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter’s new album The Calling, just out last week. Her last two albums, Between Here and Gone (2004) and Time Sex Love (2001), rarely get into the player at my house, but she’s earned my loyalty based on her earlier albums, especially 1994’s Stones in the Road, which is a masterpiece. Said loyalty was rewarded this morning as I cruised the interstate around Chicago—The Calling features the finest songwriting MCC’s committed to disc in years. Key tracks: “Houston,” a poignant and beautiful song about Hurricane Katrina survivors, and “On With the Song,” a protest anthem in solidarity with the Dixie Chicks. Either of ‘em would be worthy of posting here, except the disc is still out in the car and I’m in my jammies already, so they’ll have to wait.

Over the weekend, Boston’s lead singer, Brad Delp, was found dead in his home. Boston has never gotten much respect—back in college, while the band was still a going concern, we often joked that if you segued any three songs of theirs properly, it would sound like one continuous record. They’ve had the last laugh, though—their two ’70s albums have never been off the radio since the day they were released. Their 1976 debut is a staple of the playlist at my radio station, even though the station avoids playing certain other classic-rock staples such as Foreigner and Journey on the grounds that they’re too pop for our audience. Boston’s sound is as slick and commercial as either of ‘em, but perhaps it’s Delp’s voice, neither as strident as Lou Gramm’s nor as whiny as Steve Perry’s, that makes the difference. (Jeff at AM, Then FM has a brief, fine tribute to Delp.)

What I know about Christina Aguilera is dwarfed by my desire not to learn too much about Christina Aguilera. I know she was one of the turn-of-the-millennium pop tarts, a class that also includes Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson. I also know that she’s reinvented herself a couple of times already, Madonna-like, going from virginal chirper to dark-haired dirty girl to her current brassy, Marilyn-inspired persona, and that her 2006 album Back to Basics got some excellent reviews. Yesterday, quite by accident, I stopped on VH1 long enough to see her latest video, “Candyman.” And I confess to you that I was transfixed, not so much by Aguilera herself, but by the song, which is a takeoff on the Andrews Sisters’ sound of the 1940s. I pity the disc jockeys who will have to play it every couple of hours for the next several weeks, because it’s laden with the kind of monster hooks that will burn out in a hurry (think “Mambo No. 5,” which “Candyman” reminds me of). But until then—”Candyman” is an earworm so potent that it should come with a warning label.

Also: I’ve reconfigured the blogroll a bit with a new list called “Friends o’Blog.” These blogs belong to people I know, either in person or virtually (through e-mail and blog-comment contact). They’re also the ones I read most often and the ones I most highly recommend.