"The Authority Song" by Jimmy Eat World

I've been rather lucky and visited many nooks and cranies our world has to offer. I was surprised in a Las Vegas coffee shop by a vociferous Spainiard. I've felt the singular joy of having my wife mistaken for a local who's lost her umbrella in Oslo. I've been to the top of Mt. Fuji with two Britons and a Canadian in tow. I've toured the Sydney Olympic village with three swingin' chicks: one German, one Hungarian, and the third from Orange County, California. I've even told an anti-American, earthquake-rattled, Japanese railroad worker too busy to tell me when the train from Hiroshima would arrive to go f*ck himself.

Regardless.

No matter where I go, through happenstance conversation, geographical pride, or (evidently) tell-tale snippets of twang, these folks all learn one thing sooner or later. I'm from Indiana.

Indiana. On the banks of the Wabash, far away. Home of Colonel Harland Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the intrepid midwestern troubadour, John Mellencamp. I've long felt that if the 19th state should ever desire to change its official song - which despite what you've heard from Jim Nabors isn't "Back Home Again" - it should go with "Authority Song" by Mellencamp. Sure, we'll trade allusions to bucolic upbringings for lines like "You don't need no strength/ you need to grow up, son," but I'm sure folk in the Crossroads of America would gladly put a hand over heart for JCM's lyrics. So, one might imagine my delight to hear Jimmy Eat World throw something called "The Authority Song" onto Bleed American.

* * *

There's a degree of songs in the world that are quite simply fun. When one hears them, they elicit nothing but unbridled - and usually beer-infested - joy. "The Authority Song" is one such number. Much is owed to the ringing Ah-ah-ahhs and Do-I-I-I-uh-I-hi's. Seriously, what is it about the overtly and overly girly voice that makes a sucker of me?

The beer song comes in many varieties. In college you might have heard it pumping via duel pianos. More likely it'll come through the overpriced and underused equipment of a washed-up cover band. No matter the context or conveyance, the beer song is stuck right in the wheelhouse of every red-blooded American. "The Authority Song" is no different. The simplistically loping guitar line underscores a song that instantly begs white men everywhere to move not only their hips but shoulders. It's a beer song through and through. Pretension and obtuse lyrics are far, far away. Hell, it ends with Jim Adkins repeatedly asking, "I don't seem obvious, do I?"

The formula is simple: Guy. Girl. Bar. Done deal. All this and he pronounces it core-ter instead of qwour-ter.

What's not to love...especially if you're drunk?

Die, All Right! by The Hives

Lagom.

It's a funny little word from a funny little land. According to these outdoorsy knitters (6:10), you're unlikely to hear it anywhere but their universal healthcare infused, beautiful people laden Scandinavian kingdom. That's because the philosophy of lagom - roughly the happily accepted idea that all is well when things are good, and not necessarily great - exists only in one language and one place.

Sweden.

I've been there, and can attest that the Swedes are quite happy at present to be happy. They're officially neutral these days (70 wars in one 100 year stretch must have worn them out). The weather isn't as cold or as bad as we perceive. They really do make smashing meatballs (see above). And whatever music they love, they f*ckin' love it. Beyond that, it's all about what maintains the everpresent and everpleasant lagom.

All that makes The Hives such an anomaly.

Don't get me wrong. I'm pretty certain this Swedish quintet is selling the sizzle as made manifest in this all too scrumptious declaration scrolling on MTV-sized video screens, "The Hives are law. You are crime." Add to that the contrived black and white motif and the Mick Jagger infused gesticulations of a frontman that calls himself Howlin' Pelle Almqvist, and we're pretty certain that some of the appeal lies in the presentation.

The majority of Veni Vedi Vicious kept the Hives true to form as the tip of the spear on the revitalization of garage rock. With originals like "The Hives-Declare Guerre Nucleaire," "Statecontrol," and "Main Offender" and a cover of Jerry Butler's "Find Another Girl" (whose original version sounds like The Ventures backing Sammy Davis, Jr.) it's hard to ignore the brazen contrast of modern showmanship yet loyalty to roots stretching back decades.

So, I guess it's in this hell-fire stage presence mixing with molotov cocktails of civility that we get The Hives. They'll pump their fists on stage, but they'll make sure there's a pinky extended.

Don't try to understand it. It's lagom.

Lights Out for Darker Skies by British Sea Power

When your uninsulated, paper walls aren't separating you from your neighbors there's one place to go: Deo Deo.

For about 1000 Yen you can pick up a pair of pleather-bound, over the ears headphones. At least you could when you were a mere expatriated chap forging out an adulthood in Fukuyama.

Oh, what a decade can do to some plastic and wires.

Those same headphones are now withering, still technologically sound but the general appearance is a bit embarrassing. For over a year, they've left tiny bits of black on your ears so your listening doth not disturb the latest episode of Ace of Cakes. Two nights ago you went to strap them on and one aural muff simply fell completely off. It might be time for a new pair...or a new metaphor.

* * *

Practically a decade ago I was awash in new music. College will do that to you. Summerteeth pushed me fully into my post-punk days and the ethereal Reinhold Messner allowed me to accept the unexpected. Frankinatra, a now-defunct pre-blog website, was still piping out the likes of Beulah and the Magnetic Fields on its mix tapes, while frequent trips to a used record - yes the 33 1/3 kind - store on the third floor of Caspa made me regret not owning a turntable while I sifted yet again through the myriad of CD's from the Jayhawks and Velvet Underground.

Music came easily. And went.

* * *

"Lights Out for Darker Skies" is a microcosmic sample of my current musical pursuits. I can hear the influence of multiple decades from the on-again, off-again lead guitar melodies to the post-modern mash-up of hyphenated genres. At times flirting with an OK Computer-esque use of movements but falling reliably back into the verse-chorus-verse realm of the Pixies, it's got a bit for everyone. And just for good measure, BSP throws in the obtuse lyric hither and yon

Welcome for the day or stay forever,
There's things which we all need to navigate
Daisy chains of lights around the city now,
They glow but never quite illuminate,
So dance like sparks from the muzzle

Wishy washy grasps of the present. Homages to the band name. Unsafe electrical practices. Some might begin to agree with those in snarkademia and think this is just an also-ran amalgam of indie rock. But there's something here.

I think I was finally sold at the four-minute mark where I was willing to muddle through something as flirtatiously trite as "We walked under neon skies" to hear the disparate players frenetically coalesce to remind me, "Hey now, now. Oh the future's bright."

Feel the return of those Brit-pop/Manchester/Cure-ish guitar riffs and I've found a song to like for no other reason than it sounds good in my ears.

Hey now now. Oh the future's bright.

* * *

It's a 2007 weekday evening, sometime between 6:30 and 7:00 and Marketplace is on NPR. They've used some bump music that sounds incredibly familiar, but a quick glance at the website and visit to the iStore proves that what's old is new again and what you thought was, was not, but is.

Time to strap on those feeble, old headphones and realize that despite your fading musical relevance, providence is bringing you good music albeit through listener-supported radio and not the hip kid in ENG 409.