Joey Bear's Official Guide to Albums That He Thinks Are Fairly Neat and Probably Worth a Listen To, Part 1

All right, my carnivores, herbivores, and omnivores, time to get MadChops' Ten Albums That Will Make You Wish MadChops Had Better Taste In Music (brought to you by MadChops) underway. Without further ado, our first album:

Weezer, a.k.a. the Blue Album, by The Weezers, I believe. This gem came out in May of 1994 but I didn't get aurally fixated on it until my freshman year of high school. That's when I started taking music seriously, or as much as I could between football practice, my girlfriend, and general high school debauchery.

The first song I heard from it was Undone. After football practice one night, I had my mom bring my bass and amp, and I spent the night at my buddy Dave's house. He showed me the song and taught me to play it. Pretty soon after, another friend, Matt, was playing it with us too, and Dave's neighbor, Sam, was sitting in behind a drum pad. That was the birth of my days as a rock star, which is definitely another story.

After that, Weezer had me hooked. I learned how to play most of the Blue Album, and listened through Pinkerton and the Green Album. College is when I came to appreciate the Blue Album, though. Sure, it was a fun CD throughout high school, but with maturity came a keener eye. I began appreciating it for its pacing. The way Rivers, and let's all be honest, Weezer is the Rivers Cuomo show, started it faster with My Name Is Jonas and subtly slowed it down through Say It Ain't So to end at Only In Dreams was, and remains, a stroke of genius. While the tempo is never off-the-wall fast, the pace is for the first 6 songs. Even with the drawn-out intro for Undone, it doesn't feel slow. My Name Is Jonas, No One Else, The World Has Turned and Left Me Here, and Buddy Holly feel more like a flurry of punches than individual jabs—you recognize each singular hit, but it's followed so quickly by another that it meshes into one blow. Which makes sense; Rivers has said No One Else and The World Has Turned and Left Me Here are narrated by the same guy.

My favorite part of the album is the latter, smaller half. I like that Say It Ain't So is as tense as it is, which leads to the rowdier second chorus, and the blow out in the bridge. It's not your typical blow out; there's no yelling or guitar shredding, but if you can't hear it in Rivers' voice, you aren't paying attention. The last chorus is just as angry, but then it calms back down with the outro. It's like hitting the reset button for In the Garage, which is straight chillin' on this album. More than ever, I dig this song, with its references to Nightcrawler (pour some out) and Kitty Pryde, two of the greatest X-Men. But it's the harmonica that pulls the song together for me.

The greatest part of this album is hands down Only In Dreams. This is 8 minutes of musical bliss, the likes of which have been seen before, but rarely. It may be blasphemous, but I rate this up there with Bohemian Rhapsody in the epic song category. Once the bridge starts, you're required to strap in. It builds so masterfully: It starts with just the bass and drums, but then one guitar comes in, genuinely just wailing away, quietly at first, while the second guitar plays something pretty, but also quietly. Everything is just itching to move faster and faster, and it finally does. You hear it first from one guitar in the background, quietly strumming faster, followed by the bass and then the drums. Pretty soon after the two guitars are matching each other, and finally (FINALLY!) we get a release after a couple of shots from the snare. The aftermath is what you'd expect: Raw, heavy, pained, and utterly necessary. With an instrument in hand, playing along, it's impossible not to feel anything there, when you're finally letting it all out. Honestly, after listening to Only In Dreams, I need a break. It's an emotional investment. And I appreciate, as a bassist, that the song ends as it began, with the lonesome bass.

The Blue Album sits as 1 of maybe 3 (at most) albums I can listen to all the way through without even an itch to skip ahead. I think it's Weezer's best, and yes, I do own Pinkerton. On the one hand, I think it's sad that Weezer peaked on their first offering, but in the same vein, WOW, they killed it. It's like a grand slam at Game 7 of the World Series, bottom of the 9th, down 3 runs, with a full-count and 2 outs.

And so ends the first entry in JBear's List of Music That'll Get You Whichever Sex You Prefer. Tomorrow, we'll take a look at a planet devourer. And how could I forget—The prizes! Since no one guessed correctly (or at all), tomorrow night's winner has their choice of a 1995 Ford Bronco, two 30 lb. dumbbells, my old Fusion Razor, or the little Batman figure that guards my Mac.

Lists: The Future of Internetting

Here's the rundown, my little chickadees: Every night for the next ten nights, I'm going to talk about my favorite albums. Not only will I talk about them, I'll also label them Joey Bear's Official Guide to Albums That He Thinks Are Fairly Neat and Probably Worth a Listen To. (Worth noting is that I have no idea what words I should have in caps in titles, so if something's wrong, let me know.)

Let it be stated ahead of time that this list is not in any particular order, and some of the bands featured aren't even favorites. I just really dig the album as a whole. There's no criteria, no checklist, and no payoffs involved (but if anyone famous is reading this and wants to pay me off, email me, because I will sell-out in a heartbeat), so it's a horribly subjective process. Hell, the list I wrote down all of 10 minutes ago may not even be the list by the end of 10 days.

Now, for a while, my taste in music has been made fun of. Often by Chase, as he tried to put together a decent playlist at a party, or by Ben, who just can't fathom my favorite band. Mr. Awesome once called me a pop-punk kid at heart. I didn't know if it was an insult then and I still don't. I just know it's mostly true. So expect a bit of that. But expect a surprise or two. I won't try to change any minds, but I'm always down to discuss your tastes vs. mine. Besides, if I don't like what you say, I can just delete the comment. So suck it, music snobs. Or don't. Please just keep reading.

Tomorrow night, we'll be going back to a more innocent age of neon shorts and fanny packs: 1994. If you guess the album, you get your choice of a 1995 Ford Bronco, two 30 lb. dumbbells, or my old Gillette Fusion razor.

Joey Bear and the Pretty Awesome Trailer for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I am a nerd. Unrefined and unapologetic. I've been this way for a long time—I would daresay since Jurassic Park. One of these days, I'll tell you all about my history in nerding out. Until then, you'll just have to settle for my Harry Potter history.

Sometime during the summer of 2004, I was out to lunch with my girlfriend at the time. We were on Wendover, so I figure we were at the Steak N Shake. We get a call from her mom, who's at the theater (all of five minutes away) with her little brother, in line to get tickets to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I'm not one to turn down anything free, let alone a movie, so we go meet up with them. This is the first time I meet Harry Potter. He seemed all right, and so did his friends, but I couldn't get behind the design of the werewolf, or a couple of super-cheesy moments on that crazy tree (yes, I know it's called the Whomping Willow). And that was that.

By the next year, I became one of those nose-in-the-air haters. To me, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars did it first and did it better. Who the hell was this J.K. Rowling, with her unoriginal stories and stereotypical characters? Pretentious doesn't cover it. And I managed to carry this attitude with me until the release of book six, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Curiosity overcame me and I discovered the big moment. More than anything, this intrigued me. Dumbledore filled the role of old, wise mentor, and it's hard to argue against those characters being fascinating. My mind was made: I would read the books.

Read them I did. Between frying french fries and mozzarella sticks, grilling burgers and making BLTs at Ridgewood Swim & Tennis, my head was buried in one of the books. The first four fell in four straight days. Five and six took a bit longer, but it was clear: with each new page, I ate my words just a little bit more. By the time I finished, I couldn't have felt like a bigger ass. Yes, the stories have a similar feel, but so does nearly every epic adventure. Isn't there some saying that there's only seven original stories in the world? J.K. Rowling put her stamp on one of those, and I had been a little punk about it. I remember going to see Goblet of Fire that summer with all the friends I just graduated with. I still won't forgive Mike Newell's inability to properly capture the tone of the graveyard scene, or the frantic pace of the entire movie. Then, two summers later, we all went and saw Order of the Phoenix (which I will gladly argue as the second best in the series, behind Prisoner of Azkaban). I don't remember if it was high school friends, Ridgewood friends, or a mix of both. Ten days later, I was at Barnes & Noble at Friendly to get book seven at midnight. I had work in the morning, but I read until 5 a.m. I felt Dobby more than Fred, pained at Lupin and Tonks, but most of all, I was astonished at Severus Snape.

Two years prior to Deathly Hallows, I wrote a paper about Anakin Skywalker as this generations great tragic hero. I couldn't have been more wrong. J.K. Rowling crafted one of the most heart-breaking characters I'd read in popular or literary fiction. That simple, but not at all. This sort of forethought (no, I don't think she had it all planned out when she started. But definitely by book three) and patience was astounding. And now, I get to watch it all unfold on the big screen.

The integrity of both the books and the movies can be called into question. Readers literally see J.K. Rowling improving and maturing as a writer throughout the series. The movies are touch and go, depending on director (which is pretty accurate, since the screenwriter has been the same on all but one of them). These are the sort of books that your literary stiffs will balk at. But when they hold up a Pride and Prejudice, I will gladly respond with any one of seven books. The hell with Mr. Darcy. I can't connect with Elizabeth. But I cried for Sirius. I wanted to lash out at Umbridge. These were characters that I met, ate with in the Great Hall, and studied with in the common room. And it's sad to see that the end is so close.

Moving is the New Stay-Where-You-Are-With-All-the-People-You-Enjoy

Leaving Wilmington was easy. Shockingly easy. Now, I've moved plenty of times before—Long Island to Kernersville, Kernersville to Winston Salem, Winston to High Point, Raleigh to Wilmington—and after each new town, I lost friends. Some were the type of people I'd consider having in my wedding, especially in Raleigh. Gone they were, with the packing of a truck and several hours on I-40. Sure, I've seen some since leaving each city, but not often enough to still be real friends. It's subtle, but you make a choice as to whether or not you'll make time for former friends, no matter how close you were. And I knew that. Knew that after a certain move, you just wouldn't be part of someone's life anymore, and they wouldn't be in yours either.

But Wilmington is different. Or I guess, was. I've picked up a couple of expensive habits (comics, tattoos, girlfriend...not in order of importance!), done some amazing things (Alaska, White Trash Bash), and finally graduated college (in only 5.25 years!). But those things wouldn't matter without the people involved. From dressing like Wolverine on a hot day in May to slicing bagels at 6:30 in the morning, climbing a frozen waterfall to getting burnt within an inch of cancer at the beach, I've never felt more confident in the relationships I've forged than during my three years in Wilmington. The people I worked with, lived with, workshopped with, drank-too-much-and-stumbled-home with, every one of them made an impact. For the first time, I'm not worried about losing friends. Dynamics will change, sure. That's expected. We're like the Rebellion in Return of the Jedi: One group is on Endor with the infuriating Ewoks, another is fighting a fleet of Star Destroyers and the poorly-thought-out Death Star II (bigger does not equal better, Empire), and one more is fighting two Dark Lords of the Sith. But you know what? We've got a giant party at the Ewok village to look forward to. We'll get back together.  Each of us will make it, in our own way. But we'll all still have each others' backs. Because of that, I'm not so apprehensive about being in New York, in the house I kind of grew up in. Things will be tough. But I've got Admiral Ackbar, Han, Leia, Chewie and the droids watching my back. That's all I need. Well, that and the Force. And a lightsaber. Preferably green. (But I won't say no to blue if that's all you've got.)

All right. I had to get the serious thing out of my system. No promises I won't rant, cry, mope, or be angsty from here on out, but I'll do my best (that's what she said).