Blog Posts by David Marchese

Despite the grumblings of record execs and audiophiles, it's pretty much inarguable that the digital revolution has been good for music fans. More people have more access to more music. 'Nuff said. But something happened recently that made me briefly pine for the pre-digital era. No, I didn't find a rare acetate of the first Velvet Underground album. Instead, I had the rare experience of being surprised.

In the course of looking for some information about the gorgeous new Vetiver album, Thing Of The Past, a gently hushed and sweetly rambling collection of obscure covers, I stumbled across a website offering a mix of frontman Andy Cabic's favorite songs; 27 songs by 27 different artists. I knew maybe five names, but the majority were mysteries. (Great Speckled Bird? Andrew More? Terry Allen?) Normally, this is when I go on a Googling rampage. But then I realized I was facing a golden opportunity.

Ever since songs jumped from our stereos to our hard drives, it's become easier than ever

For a long time now, Lil Wayne's laid credible claim to the title of "best rapper alive." Last week, when Tha Carter III (Cash Money/Universal) moved 423,000 units on the day it hit retail, the New Orleans MC showed he might be the most popular too. With first week sales hovering around a million, Wayne doubled the first week sales for Jay-Z's last release (American Gangster) and put himself in Kanye territory. Get ready for the summer of Weezy.

But Wayne's success has implications beyond himself. The biggest music story over the last year is undoubtedly the way artists are responding to the changes (read: failings) of major labels. Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails have opted out, choosing to release their music independently. Madonna and Jay-Z recently struck so-called 360 deals with concert promotion company Live Nation. Simply put, a lot of artists don't think major labels are that great at selling music anymore. So how do we explain Wayne's success? It's simple, he hedged his bets.

In

It's almost impossible to imagine someone writing a sadder breakup song than Joni Mitchell's "Blue."  So on her upcoming (almost) all covers album Jukebox, Cat Power's eternally broken-hearted Chan Marshall didn't even try. Featuring Marshall's sad-eyed saunter through Mitchell's classic as well as her take on songs by Bob Dylan, Hank Williams, and James Brown, Jukebox is a sweet, sad, and resolutely unsmirking success. It's also an anachronism. Sometime around the turn of the century, covers came to exist more as vehicles for YouTube-pandering irony (e.g., last year's Alanis Morrissette "My Humps," or Mandy Moore's "Umbrella") than as opportunities to air out good songs.  Marshall's beautifully earnest renditions recall when bands covered songs largely because--wait for it--they liked them. Indie touchstones Dinosaur Jr. and the Minutemen rocked the Cure, Peter Frampton, CCR, and Steely Dan; the Clash exploded their reggae and rockabilly favorites; David Bowie, John Lennon, and the