Teddy Nutmeg's Top Ten Albums of All Time

We used to do music reviews here on The Brothel. (Did I tell you that already?) We also had each of our contributors write a top ten list. This is one by Teddy. It's long, and his musical tastes may have changed since 2002, but we're putting it up anyway. -KV

TEDDY'S TOP TEN
by Teddy Nutmeg

I LIKE MUSIC. Music is good. These albums are good. I like these albums.

However, music is an extremely personal medium delicately intertwined with one's emotional state, life-changing events, everyday surroundings, and (above all) sex. What I like may not jive with what you like, and that's OK. My experiences are different from yours, my music is different from yours-neither being inherently better the other, unless your name is Charlie Luzon and you listen to shite like Rancid, in which case you need help. Seriously. But Michael Jackson does rule.

Also, listen to music on quality headphones (the ones with the big plug that doesn't fit into your discman) whenever possible. It's a whole new world.

Built to Spill, "Perfect From Now On"

...because I listen to this and its better than sex. Except this one time, there was this chick I met on a plane, and damn, she had a hot body and was REALLY into me, and I don't think anything (besides crack, or sushi) could be better than that. Not that normal sex is somehow unfulfilling and hollow, not that it leaves you feeling used and dirty and emptier than your wallet after you've paid her off. Not at all.

Bela Fleck and the Flecktones

No album, but it's got to be live to jive, brother. Bluegrass rules--soul music for the seemingly soul-less (white) people.

Dragged to bluegrass festivals when I was younger, I started appreciating it when I realized there were no rules at a festival and no rules in the music. Here's some actual dialogue between me (age 13) and my parents at a bluegrass festival:

Teddy: "I'm going down to the main stage, then to the lake, but I'll be back in a few hours."
Teddy's Parents: "That's great, but here, you don't have to tell us anything. Come back whenever. But, hey, no kissing Susie or Sarah. Well, kissing's OK, but NO TONGUE. They ARE your cousins."

See what I mean, NO RULES. Coincidentally, (or not) it was at a bluegrass festival that I realized that those things on girls chests were pretty fun to play with, and that a public toilet seat can make a pretty comfy pillow. And no, I didn't kiss Susie (not with tongue, anyway). Sarah on the other hand... (naughty Sarah)

Back to Bela Fleck: the dude can JAM; endless, intricate jams on the banjo and guitar left my hands numb from clapping, my head spinning and my mouth dry-though I guess that could've been from Uncle Brian's backyard moonshine and ditch weed. Thanks Unc.

Pavement, "Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain," and "Watery, Domestic" (4-song EP)

With songs of resigned desolation (they too reign from the Central Valley), Pavement helped me grow up. No, they didn't take me in the back of their 1975 blue Chevy Van, telling me to "squeal like a pig" but since I was 15 there've been Pavement songs for me to sink my emotional teeth into; songs that felt like mine and mine alone. Speaking of mine, and mine alone, a cheap whore on this website once dissed Pavement when I busted them out on the drive back from a ski trip, but he also thinks Rancid is God's gift to middle class white boy angst and that Titanic was a good flick. Go figure.

Al Green, "Greatest Hits"

This is (subjectively) the most romantic music of all time. Scenario: you've made her dinner at you're place, and now you're ready for dessert. You dim the lights, light the candles, whip out your mousse, and put on Al Green while you sit down to share the love. After dessert, you casually mention that slow dancing is a great way to help settle a full stomach, you give her a smile sweeter than the mousse, and you're off to never-never land.

If that doesn't work, you boot her ass out and call up your hoochie-coochie girl, who lives an hour away in the ghetto, but she don't need no homemade dinner and chocolate mousse; some Roberto's (or some other taco stand ending in "berto's"), an ice cold St. Ides and she's ready to show you her zebra-print thong.

[TIP: When wooing ghetto-style, disregard this list of records and everything else you think you know about music and romance. Doggystyle (see Charlie Luzon's list) is a bumpably safe bet, but then again, you might get shot the up by some busta ass Snoop-hatin foolios while you be tappin dat ass in the backseat. Cause in the ghetto, you NEVER KNOW. ]

The Pixies Surfer Rosa (et al)

Description-defyingly good. Sometimes funky to the ear, reminding me that music doesn't have to sound "pretty" and soft to be great. Don't get me wrong, I like hard music and I'm WAY more punk than anyone realizes (definitely more punk than you, you pussy) but I just don't listen to hard stuff very often. Punk is exponentially better in person, where you can shuck your savings of rage and pain into the pot and get crazy with everyone else, and plus, I'm a pretty happy guy in general. I would say more about how good The Pixies are, but the Admins would probably cream their shorts.

Any good classical recording from the Romantic/Classical period

Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, composers along these lines thrill and chill you. I don't pretend to know much about classical music, but I do know that for me, it has to be a good recording, and a good symphony. Like punk, I don't listen to classical very often, but when I do, it cleanses and regulates my musical digestion. Punk rock and classical are musical Metamucil.

Belle and Sebastian, "The Boy With The Arab Strap"

They groove, they rock, they're a mellow, acoustic, Scottish alternative to Radiohead, but with beautiful female vocals (she sure sounds purdy) to lull me off to fuzzy happiness. It takes a revolution or two on the CD player to get acquainted with Belle and Sebastian, but once you're friends, they never treat you wrong, just like a TJ hooker. Am I talking about the TV show, or a real TJ hooker? Does William Shatner realize that his shortened surname is the past tense of "to poop"? All I know is that Belle and Sebastian throw some violas and cellos into the mix, and it serves them quite well.

Blackalicious (underground hip-hizzzop) "NIA"

Two dudes with a positive message and the skill to make it sound pimpin, the Gift of Gab and Chief Xcel have been kickin ass in Bay Area jams for years, and their shit is straight-up bumpin. Gab's flows are intelligent, positive, extremely well organized, and contain several references to "yo mama's big fat ass." The air at a Blackalicious show is absolutely electrified, EVERYONE is moving, bouncing to the beat and getting pumped up by the Gift's stage presence. And if you think they sound too good to be true, trust me, its all true, all except that part about "yo mama's big fat ass." I just like the way "yo mama's big fat ass" looks-in print. But Blackalicious is on the real. Word (to yo mama's big fat ass).

Elliot Smith, "Figure 8" (but all his albums are quality)

One could describe Elliot's music as folksy, organic, and tangible; he writes about his own alcoholism with candor and accessibility. He used to play in a GREAT band called Heatmiser with Sam Coomes from Quasi (awesome band that just missed the cut). Elliot composes, he sings, he plays, he rocks. His music is diverse, sometimes gentle, sometimes driving, always crisp and fresh. His acoustic work is about as good as it gets, without Jack anyway. If you ever have the good fortune to see him live, yes he really is that drunk, and no, it won't affect his playing (too much).

Manu Chao, "Clandestino"

Just when you think you've got me pegged as a mellow, Kerouac reading, horn-rimmed glasses wearing, bong-slurping, neo-beat-hippie wanna-be, I'll bust out with the French/Spanish groovemaster himself, Manu Chao. He sings in Spanish, English, and French, and it tickles me in the right spot (edited sex joke here). Maybe their appeal is best exemplified by track three, "King of the Bongo" which has female back-up vocalists who respond on cue with their only line "He's the king of the bongo." His music is simultaneously cheesy and serious as he covers extreme topics from poverty in Tijuana to the international struggle for ideological independence. So take your Chomsky reader y pongala donde el sol no brilla. I'll take Manu Chao and his funky beats any day.

So now what? You've got all this great info, so what're you going to do with it? You're going to run out and buy all these albums, right? No?!? What?! You don't trust the good judgment of a guy who...

1) jokes about kissing his cousins
2) refers to girls in a blatant and disgusting sexual manner
3) reads (or at least refers to) Noam Chomsky
4) does, in fact, enjoy TJ Hooker(s)
5) has to have his dirty jokes edited to be posted on a site called "The Literary Brothel"

What the hell is wrong with you?

-TN