Five Songs To Get You Through The Night: Getting Out There

So let’s say, hypothetically, you’ve been slithering the subterranean homesick blues too long now. The dark glass bottles and clattering plastic jugs—shameful carcasses! Dark materials!—have sneakily begun to pile up in a corner, rivaling your mighty laundry tower in magnitude and olfactory offense. You, battle-worn, cracked and torn, grump-stumble over to your wet, smelly crumple of denim and extract your cell-phone, which has been whimpering its low battery warning for hours. Your worried mama has called six times, the health center once, twice, three times, and that one clerk from the Plaid Pantry has texted you again: “Got wut we discussed. Make night of it?”
Lord! Lord! Something has got to change.
You check your Facebook events and find a marsupial-themed king’s cup party you haven’t necessarily been invited to—but four of your friends are going, so you’re in the clear, and anyways, it’ll be nice to get out there and maybe at least dance a little or drink something that I haven’t brewed in my laundry sink.
iTunes cheerily bounces open, that ebullient, ecstatic little icon: Help is on the way! These should get you going, get you air guitaring in the shower, getting crazy with the fabric softener, and cramming down a few Bagel Bites and a big bowl of Kraft dinner with extra ketchup.
*Andrew W.K.- “Got To Do It.” Classically trained by monks, wolves, and Iroquois in the arts of rock, jazz keyboards, and the workings of the human soul, W.K. is more myth than man, a long-haired, torn-jeaned berserker shaman of earnest, dripping, electric, fucking rock. This particular song, off the immaculate I Get Wet, is quite possibly the most insistent track ever recorded, using the word “got” 34 times. Take it from Andrew, man: “You got to do it. Gotta do all the stuff that you love.” Roundhouse kick that motherfucker Derrida. Life can be that simple.
*The Rapture- “Whoo! Alright, Yeah… Uh huh.” Poncey and posturing, indulgent and about as substantial as a fall break scrounge, this is all flash—and you might regret the shimmering snickersnack of it as soon as the song ends. But that’s why Jesus or whoever invented repeat. Don’t worry about your spinal fluid, you can just take another hit. Oh, and there’s enough cowbell here to make you forget the tired viral SNL nonsense surrounding that particular instrument.
*The Russian Futurists- “Paul Simon.” Alright, first of all, what a sweet name. Secondly, what a sweet concept—the song’s called Paul Simon because it takes Simon’s second-wave dalliances with South African rhythms as its motif. Actually just one man—the whole enterprise is a kind of lo-fi electronic endeavor—things sound a lot bigger, with saxophones and shakers soaring over sweetly muted and shy vocals.
*Death From Above, 1979- “Romantic Rights.” There’s just something savage and magical about the way he screeching-metal, stop-start New York City rush hour riff in the first thirty seconds is matched by the soaring dragon kerrang of the song’s main hook—building along with savage and simple drums into a few bitching shoutalongs. Like if Franz Ferdinand, hardened by months of scorpion-torture and ice-enemas, burst out of a concentration camp with a junkified-Robert Downey Jr. Iron Man, firing nuclear-powered rusty nail-guns.
*Gogol Bordello- “Mishto!” Ain’t nothing finer than a bit of Gypsy punk to get your night started. This particular song is mostly instrumental, so you can just kind of awkwardly shout every once and a while when you’re feeling particularly riled up.
Now go forth, get out there, and try to drink some water, will you? Next week we’ll be discussing Oh No! Oh My!, You Say Party! We Say Die!, and !!!.


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