As I’m sure you have heard by now, this week marks the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. And, as I’m sure you remember, August 29, 2005, was an awfully stormy Monday, a supernatural event that has given rise to more than a few superlatives over the years. From the sounds of things, there will be no lack of handwringing, fingerpointing, and pontificating this go-round.

I’m not sure why we as a people make a fuss over events at five- and 10-year intervals, since my guess is that at any other point, like the third or sixth anniversaries, the emotions are no less acute. Nonetheless, for better or worse, we do. And this week my mind has been occupied by recollections of New Orleans, too.

Listening to jazz is one form of self-preservation

But, perhaps in reaction to the general overreaction, I’m trying to conjure up memories of an antediluvian world, if you will, a happier, drier version of the Big Easy that I had the pleasure of visiting several times prior to 2005. Escapist? Of course! (Need I remind you of what you are reading?) But as John Ashbery once quipped, “we need all the escapism we can get.” Now more than ever.

So, while woolgathering during the woeful newscasts these past few days, my self-reflections kept returning to the three activities I always indulged in once I reached the Crescent City, no matter how brief or over-programmed my stay: having a native cocktail and an authentic creole meal in the French Quarter, catching at least one set at a jazz club, and nosing through the stacks in a used bookstore. Alas, it doesn’t appear that I will be getting back there any time soon (despite a very tempting invitation to join a group of dear friends heading there to mark a 40th birthday). So, I’ve prepared a to-do list for a staycation to the New Orleans in my mind. I’m posting the following, typically Scribbleskiffian useless bits of info in case you want to come along, too (and I hope that you do).

On my very first trip to NOLA (that’s “New Orleans, Louisiana,” BTW), I met the Sazerac, a beguiling whiskey-based elixir that is reportedly the first cocktail invented in America. I’d had plenty of bourbon drinks at that point, including my fair share of Old Fashioneds, but what made this homegrown concoction so intriguing was that its main ingredients, absinthe (or Pernod, both of which taste like licorice) and rye, were so “flavor-forward,” as the foodies say. I’m sure I’d had rye by then, too — my dad, a loyal Marylander, always had a handle of Pikesville Rye on hand — but I doubt if I had ever noticed its uniquely dry and spicy bite. The Sazerac (and my generous waiter on that fateful night, who was pleased to see my eyebrows rise after the first sip) brought that sensation to my attention. Now, whenever I want a “taste” of New Orleans, I shake out a Sazerac. It’s a little tricky but worth the effort. Here’s one recipe I’ve tried (from drinksmixer.com):

Sazerac Cocktail

1 tsp sugar
1 1/2 oz rye whiskey
1 dash Deva absinthe
2 dashes Peychaud bitters
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1 twist lemon peel
ice

Chill an old-fashioned glass by filling with crushed ice. In another glass mix the sugar with the bitters dissolving the sugar. Add some ice, stirring to chill. In the old-fashioned glass remove the ice and pour in the absinthe coating the entire glass. Remove the excess absinthe. Add the rye whiskey and bitters/sugar mixture. Add the lemon twist.

Oh my, rye!

However, if you’re not a fan of whiskey but want to see how rye can influence a malt-based beverage, you’ll be glad to learn that some microbrewers have been experimenting with the grain in their beers to good effect. I recently enjoyed Bear Republic’s Hop Rod Rye, which as the name suggests featured a balance of hoppy and earthy aromas and flavors, and Honey Rye Ale, from Lake Placid Brewery, which was sweet and slightly astringent. Here’s an interesting article on the rise of rye-based beers, in case you’re getting thirsty.

Now that we’ve filled our glasses, it’s time for a little mood music. A long time ago, I learned the difference between so-called “Dixieland” and New Orleans-style jazz. But don’t ask what that is — as my friend, mentor, and curmudgeonly jazz critic Hayden Carruth would have said, “I know, but I’m tired of telling.” Suffice it to say, like pornography, you’ll know it when you see it. And there’s no better venue to see (and hear) the real thing than the dingy, cramped, stifling, and always “hot” Preservation Hall. The Grand Ole Opry it ain’t, and as tourist traps go, it’s got all the charm of a rotting roadside gin joint. But for $5 or so, you can sit close enough to stuff a dollar in the bell of a trombone during requests and listen to jazz the way it’s been played pretty much since the turn of the last century.

Earlier this year the house band, which occasionally records and tours, put out a new record, Preservation: An Album to Benefit Preservation Hall & the Preservation Hall Music Outreach Program. As the rather unwieldy title indicates, the effort is an attempt to raise money for the many local musicians who were displaced (or worse) by the hurricane. But what makes this LP more interesting and valuable than a typical tribute record is that the band invited a variety of artists, from pop to hip-hop and elsewhere, to jam with them. Among my favorites are Jim James from My Morning Jacket soft-singing “St. James Infirmary” (here’s live footage from the recent Newport Folk Festival) and Tom Waits’s gravelly, off-kilter version of “Tootie Ma Is a Big Fine Thing.”

Not only do these combos prove to be good representations of the native music but they also offer an excellent example of what a delicious gumbo is New Orleans-style jazz — a heady mishmash of traditional and novel styles, based on standard compositions, with lots of improvisation.

Another, more recent contribution to that region’s musical philanthropy is the Gulf Aid AllStars project. Organized by rapper Mos Def, and featuring members of Preservation Hall, as well as Lenny Kravitz, and Trombone Shorty, the group released an original composition (and a video), the jammin’ “It Ain’t My Fault,” available on iTunes, to provide relief from the latest insult on the Delta and its environs. I should also mention Backatown, the new LP from Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue (who played “One Night Only” recently on Letterman). It’s a funked-out, brassy answer to the question, who’s making good jazz records these days?

And now that we’ve got the fluids and music flowing, it’s time to settle in with a good book. One of my greatest used bookstore discoveries was Faulkner House Books, off Jackson Square, a boutique-like setting situated in the eponymous writer’s one-time residence. It is a destination spot for any bibliophile seeking trinkets from Southern and other literary luminaries — I once splurged on an autographed copy of A Craving for Swan, a collection of essays by Transylvanian transplant Andrei Codrescu. I really did.

But the writer I have mapped out now is Tennessee Williams, who would turn 100 in 2011. Although “10,” as he often signed his letters, wasn’t born in New Orleans, he moved there in 1939 and called it his home for much of the rest of his life. And, most important, he chose the city as the setting for many of his most absorbing plays, most notably the storm-tossed Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (watch the corny 1958 movie trailer) and the sultry A Streetcar Named Desire (check out this serio-comic interpretation by The Simpsons). My favorite, The Glass Menagerie, though set in St. Louis, is a Southern sympathizer for sure and will be reissued early next year by New Directions, with an introduction by playwright Tony Kushner. (You may read an excerpt here.) As a “memory play,” it seems like the most suitable material for perusal as we raise a glass and blow out another candle for New Orleans. Especially since, as Williams observed, “in memory, everything happens to music.”

As always, tell us what you think. What are your favorite memories of New Orleans? Are there other native foods, musical styles, or authors that you think everyone should know about? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

Recently, I overheard my girls singing the words to “Daughters” by John Mayer. This pleased me, but perhaps not for the reason you’d think. Although I like it when my kids sing, I generally don’t like them singing songs like that written by a guy like this.

Nonetheless, I am a big fan of any art that celebrates the relationship between dads and their daughters. And, as luck would have it, around the time they were crooning “fathers, be good to your daughters,” I received a review copy of My Father’s Places, a new memoir about growing up with the poet Dylan Thomas, written by his only daughter, Aeronwy. It’s a lyrical, episodic, and entertaining little book, revealing an intimate side of a man who cultivated a very commanding public persona. It’s also somewhat of a cautionary tale for any father who wants to be a famous writer, or vice-versa.

It should be no surprise to anyone familiar with the facts of his bio that Thomas, also a playwright and the author of one of my most cherished holiday stories, A Child’s Christmas in Wales, proves to be an overgrown child at home. According to his daughter, he shirked his work whenever he could, producing a “sea of sorries” for publishers, and spent most of his time (and money) in local restaurants or pubs — from which his young daughter often had to collect him and help him “negotiate the path down to the front door.” And though he was a kind and loving head of household, he didn’t exactly rule the roost. Once, as Aeron vividly recalls, Dylan came running into the kitchen from the lavatory, “braces falling down over his two-sizes-too-big trousers, [and] shouting, ‘Rat.’” He climbed onto the table, “screaming like a stuck pig.” It took all the women, including his wife, Caitlin, his daughter, and Dolly, the housekeeper, to chase the “dark-grey-mud-coloured creature” out into the garden.

What’s more revealing is that, though he wrote in grandiloquent detail about his own carefree and wondrous childhood — most famously in the poem, “Fern Hill” — the hard truth is that his daughter’s upbringing was anything but idyllic. The book opens in 1949, with six-year-old Aeron and family moving to a dilapidated boathouse on the edge of the small Welsh village of Laugharne (the real-life setting for his masterpiece, Under Milk Wood). The family had very little money, suffered a continual influx of Thomas-seeking revelers, and navigated a watery landscape that, though rocky, bird-filled, and generally a “place to explore, to run around,” was muddy, damp, and cold most of the year.

And the estuary wasn’t the only chilly feature.When her father was able to write, Aeron recalls, he spent long hours locked in a shed, with the shutters closed, because he “loathed the noise of children more than the sun.” Or, as he put it, in a letter to a friend, “Our little spankers make so much noise I cannot work anywhere near them, God grenade them.” An exaggeration, for sure. But not exactly a nurturing environment, either, where a small child would feel “tickled by the rub of love.”

Thomas did dote on his daughter, however, when he chose to pay attention to her. (In addition to competing for his affection with her father’s work/play habits and long absences due to reading and lecture tours in Europe or America, another child, a boy, arrived shortly after they moved to Laugharne.) For example, Thomas loved reading books to his daughter “once or twice a week, usually on bath night,” and the passages detailing these moments are the most endearing in the book. The two Thomases would settle into “a capacious armchair … with Dad modulating his voice differently for each character,” discussing the merits of each of the books (everything from Grimm’s fairy tales to Wind in the Willows), and debating which wonder-world was better than the other. The true life of the father, then, for Dylan Thomas — who died tragically in 1953, at 39 — was steeped in fiction.

Somewhat coincidentally, I have been reading To Kill a Mockingbird at bedtime to my youngest womanly warbler. I say “somewhat coincidentally” because I originally picked the book in honor of its landmark year — it turned 50 on July 11 — and because it’s one of my “fraverits,” as my niece says. But what I’ve come to realize is that it provides an interesting contrast to what I encountered in the Thomas memoir. Although a work of fiction, Harper Lee’s prize-winning novel offers a very realistic portrayal of a positive relationship between a dad and daughter during difficult times.

Like Dylan Thomas, Atticus Finch worked long hours away from home and left others to do much of the work of raising his kids. And although his relationship with Scout was anything but “close,” at least compared to the way I interact with my daughters and son, Atticus was loving, kind, and understanding.

Unlike Dylan, however, Atticus serves as a sort of moral hero for his family. I don’t think I need to repeat any plot lines here (and I think Gregory Peck would frown if I did), but suffice to say that, through both actions and words, Atticus shows his children how to grow up. That, as he tells his daughter, Scout, “sometimes we have to make the best of things,” and show empathy for others and learn humility for yourself. Traits that, sadly, Thomas didn’t share. Sure, Atticus is a made-up character, but one that I think most real-life dads would like to emulate.

So, if you want to celebrate, and perhaps enhance, your relationship with your female children, I recommend buying a copy of My Father’s Places, or even dusting off your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from 8th grade. But don’t waste your time learning the words to a song written by a guy you wouldn’t want anywhere near your daughter.

As always, tell us what you think. Are you a fan of Dylan Thomas? If so, which is your favorite story or poem? Do you think characters in a novel can serve as role models? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

It’s the same thing every year. Not long before the last pop and fizzle of fireworks has begun to echo over the waterway on the 4th of July, I suddenly realize: summer is coming to an end.

Yes, I know that’s melodramatic. Technically speaking, the season is barely two weeks old at that point, with much ado to do and look forward to. And yet, standing in a crowd of friends and loved ones, often with one of my kids on my shoulders, watching the chrysanthemums and anemones of firelight bloom and fade (and boom) overhead, I can’t help feeling one of the highlights of the year has ended.

There's nothing normal about the new releases from Norman and others.

Maybe that’s why I enjoy taking in pyrotechnic displays: they are dazzling, delicate, and fleeting. Like all good things in life — Jiffy Pop popcorn, a grand slam in baseball, your first kiss — there’s a visible build-up, they arrive (or exit) with a bang, and they always leave you wanting more.

Maybe that’s what I enjoy about summer, too. Trudging through a record 3’ of snow just a few months ago, it seemed warm weather would never arrive. And now that “the three Hs” are here, settling their het-up, hefty haunches on our chest, it’s nice to know they will be moving on soon enough.

I guess what I’m getting at, what I’ve come to realize recently is, as any dead poet would tell you, carpe that diem. Whether watching fireworks light the night skies over the Severn River, or sweating out the dog days still rolling over on the calendar, it’s a good plan to appreciate each moment, the spectacular and the exasperating. And, yes, I know that’s melodramatic, too. But, as they say about the weather here in the middling Mid-Atlantic, whether you like or loathe what’s happening — just wait, it’ll change.

And the best way we at Scribbleskiff know how to A) sidetrack ourselves from saltation, or 2) savor every second, is to listen to a little new music. To that end, we have collected 18 songs, released over the past few months, that are sure to make your summer days (and nights) crackle and pop. But rather than shower you with them all at once, like a Roman candle, we’ve decided to make the fun last a little longer — like a tropical heat wave. We are posting six of our picks below, along with some commentary. You can listen to the rest for free (and opinion-free) at 8tracks.com (just click this link). Enjoy!

(If you are receiving this via email or Facebook and do not see the flash music players below each song, click here to listen in full on the blog site.)

“No Clouds,” Norman, Hay, Hay, Make a Wish and Turn Away. A lot more than one letter separates Norman from “normal.” In fact, there isn’t much that’s typical about this folky five-piece from Portland, Ore. With a sound that swings from rootsy jam-band (enough to wake The Dead) to lush baroque-pop (a la Fleet Foxes), and lighting on a litter of other influences in between (blues, country, and gospel, for instance), “No Clouds” will have you wishing its sunny disposition would linger a little longer.

Listen to “No Clouds” (mp3)

“Heat & Hot Water,” ARMS, EP. If this song is any indication, the arms of ARMS (the full-time side project for Todd Goldstein of the late Harlem Shakes) are open wide. Incorporating all sorts of musical styles and instrumentations — everything from lo-fi wood block knocks and hand claps to pulsing basslines, fuzzy jangly guitar, and crashing drums — “Heat & Hot Water” may be one of the coolest songs I’ve heard in a long time.

Listen to “Heat & Hot Water” (mp3)

“What’s In It For?,” Avi Buffalo, Avi Buffalo. If you’re looking for new talent, you can’t get much more fresh-faced than Avi Buffalo: three of the band’s members just graduated from high school. But these kids from Long Beach, California, must have old souls. In fact, it’s the other-era touches — Frankie Valli vocals, stringy VU guitar licks, Green on Red organ trills, etc. — that make this song sound sophisticated and, well, all grown up.

Watch the video for “What’s In It For?” (mp3)

“20 Miles,” Deer Tick, The Black Dirt Sessions. It may be old school (that’s a nicer way of saying “old fart”) to name-check REM these days, but the chorus of this song reconstructs the Stipean howl from “Talk About the Passion” so accurately that it stops me in my tracks every time I hear it. In a good, geezery way. But don’t let my oldfangled ear-brakes keep you from enjoying the ride with one of the best songs by one of the best roots-rockers recording today.

Listen to “20 Miles” (mp3)

“King of Spain,” The Tallest Man on Earth, The Wild Hunt. He may not really be the lankiest person on the planet, but this Swede sure has high hopes. With a galloping acoustic guitar rhythm and a ragged, pinched vocal style, Kristian Matsson is attempting to carry on the troubled troubadour/tramp tradition made famous by Mssrs. Dylan and Kristofferson. Sure, it’s been tried again and again, with limited success. But sometimes achieving something so simple and artful isn’t always such a stretch.

Listen to “King of Spain” (mp3)

“It’s Hard to Be Humble (When You’re From Alabama),” Phosphorescent, Here’s to Taking It Easy. I first heard these guys in early 2009 with the release of To Willie, an alt-country-esque yet faithful encomium to country music’s most famous (though now former) braidsman. And now that they’ve weathered their wooly ways, they’ve begun to grow their sound, adding new textures (like an apropos Memphis horn section), and generally sounding more mature. If nothing else, this song is proof that (to my ears, at least) you can’t have too much pedal steel guitar.

Listen to “It’s Hard to Be Humble (When You’re From Alabama)” (mp3)

So, there you have it, one-third of our mid-summer fun pack. But don’t wait too long before giving these songs a listen — they will be gone before you know it. And don’t forget to check back soon for the next installment.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you heard any of these new cuts yet? If so, which is your favorite? Or are there other summer songs that you think everyone should be listening to? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

As a contemporary once noted, Sir Thomas More always stayed true to his beliefs, under any and all circumstances, despite what others thought or how they wanted him to behave. He was, in a word, “A man for all seasons.”

And although these are the traits I prefer for our men of principle (presidents, philosophers, and Polycarps alike), they are not well-suited to a glass of beer. No, in fact, I believe the sudsy quaff that fills my schooner should be stubbornly singular. It should reflect only the mood of the season in which I am consuming it.

A mix-a-six, exclusively brewed for summer

In the cool gloom of autumn, for instance, there’s nothing like a crisp, sweet Vienna-style Oktoberfest or zesty pumpkin ale to light the night. Same goes for winter: Christmas ales taste like fresh gingerbread for one good reason — they’re warming and filling.

So, in the heat of summer — and we are already stuck in the thick of it, as anyone living in the Mid-Atlantic region can attest — what I seek is a malt beverage to match the qualities of my apparel or the pace of my activities. In other words, I want a drink that’s light in both weight and color (like khaki shorts and an old T-shirt), slow- and easy-going, yet invigorating and refreshing as a dip in the pool.

Following is a sampler of new (or new-to-me) summer brews that I recently sought out, sipped, and smiled upon. They may not be bracing enough to fend off a chilly night, or righteous enough for standing up to a cocky king, but they are ideally suited for the food and frolicking that occurs during this season. Enjoy!

Woody Creek White, Flying Dog Brewery. Here’s an American twist on a Belgian classic — a hoppy witbier. Pale gold in color, effervescent and plenty foamy, with a grainy-fruity aroma (think banana bread), and a hint of herbs and spices, such as anise and nutmeg. Just like its European ancestors, in other words. But it’s also surprisingly tangy and refreshing, with a palate-clearing, slightly bitter aftertaste. In other other words, everything you might want in a summer brew. It’s even bottle-conditioned with a lovely ring of earthy sediment on the bottom for added flavor. Best of all, once in the glass, this “white beer” tastes as good as it looks and smells, especially with grilled, buttery corn on the cob and a hot dog with spicy brown mustard.

Summer Blonde Ale, River Horse Brewing Company. This is a beer that embodies the KISS principle (though not this KISS principal): clean and clear, simple and understated, but not at all plain or underwhelming. In fact, pouring out in a golden cascade, with a slightly sour, citrus aroma and a whiff of spice, this ale’s sweet, yeasty taste and delicately bitter afterbite are simply charming. A low alcohol content (4.5%) only adds to the appeal, making for cool sipping on a hot day. I had fun with this blond and a light dinner of tender cheese tortellini seared with crushed garlic, olive oil, and fresh asparagus spears, and topped by a sprinkling of salty, sharp Parmesan.

Otter Summer, Otter Creek Brewing. I’m often disappointed by Otter Creek’s output. Like their mammalian namesake, their brews often display an aquatic and evasive nature. But this is not just an “otter” beer. Light-bodied and grainy, crisp and tart with a lemony-sour aroma, this small-batch seasonal acts more like a lager than a wheat ale. The label claims it’s “highly drinkable,” which, though it sounds like a lame marketing ploy by a national brand with no other accolades, is nonetheless hard to argue with. It certainly went down well as an accompaniment to a homemade chef salad with zesty Italian dressing.

Wailua Wheat, Kona Brewing Company. Here’s an amber wheat ale with a surprising flavor twist: passion fruit. Normally, I’m not a fan of fruit beers. I can drink one occasionally, and only if the “beer” characteristics outweigh the “fruit.” However, the unusual taste combinations here — a mixture of tangy citrus and hops bitterness, a slight hint of spices and honey, all wrapped in a bready medium body — inspire anything but a normal reaction. In fact, dude, it was, like, “tubular” as an accompaniment to lime-flavored tortilla chips and a peppery salsa.

Anchor Summer Ale, Anchor Brewing Company. The brewery proclaims this new-to-me seasonal, first launched in 1984 (!), as “the first American wheat beer in modern times.” True or not, I’ll say it’s one of the best of its kind I’ve ever had. Light and refreshing, delightfully grainy and sweet (over 50% of its malt comes from malted wheat), crisp and dry, with a hint of citrus and plenty of hops bite, it’s well-suited for pairing with warm-weather fare, like a roasted turkey sandwich on rye (with all the trimmings) and a creamy, dilly red-skin potato salad.

Wacko, Magic Hat Brewing Company. There’s no false advertising here: With its unsettling pink hue, derived from the unusual addition of beet juice, and the Dr. Seuss-like cartoon label, this beer is wack! It’s also a seriously good summer drink. Although I can’t say I’d have requested a beer brewed with beets, the flavors are, well, magical. Offering a nice balance of fruit and malty sweetness, with a light, crisp and refreshing finish, it’s crazy to think this “vegetable beer” wouldn’t mix well with a garden salad, perhaps topped with grilled salmon or shrimp.

Now, if you need more help finding seasonal beers — after you’ve exhausted all the suggestions on Scribbleskiff, of course — I recommend getting a copy of The Beer Trials. It’s a clever, though somewhat limited companion for any would-be craftbeer shopper. With more than 250 full-page reviews — covering everything from well-known brands to lesser-knowns and unheard-ofs — and featuring brief, useful, often-witty descriptions, it’s a comprehensive awareness-raiser. The main flaw: a lack of any food-pairing suggestions, which is a shame since I believe a good beer is best enjoyed with a meal. Overall, though, it’s entertaining and useful — there are several introductory chapters devoted to beer styles, flavors, and ingredients — and manageable enough to tote along to your next trip to the store.

The Geordie Schooner

Finally, where should you pour all this single-minded, handcrafted goodness? Into a singular glass made to be handheld, that is. The new Geordie Schooner distributed by Newcastle (they sent me a sample in the mail) is just the right shape and size for creating the perfect pour. It holds a full bottle of its namesake brown ale — and plenty of others, I assure you — and is not too large or unwieldy, like a typical bar glass, nor too dainty, like a wineglass. In fact, it may be the Thomas More of barware: a glass for all seasonals.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you tried any of these new summer beers yet? If so, which was your favorite — and what food made the best pairing? Or are there other seasonals that you think everyone should be trying? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

Rarely do I purchase full-lengths anymore. It’s become necessary (and, well, funner) to simply cherry-pluck a few songs from amid the muckle of platters on the market.

Being on a limited budget is, of course, the main contributing factor to this behavior. I download as many (legitimately) free mp3s as I can; most record labels these days will give away a couple to promote new LPs. Even the evil geniuses at iTunes offer at least one a week, as a way to boost sales. But these aren’t always the choicest picks of the litter or, in some cases, even studio tracks.

So, in general, when it comes to laying out cash for a sought-after song I allow myself to buy only two from each release. This seemingly random, self-imposed Scrooge-ism may sound limiting, and it is. However, knowing your limitations has its own rewards. For example, shopping this way forces me to make sure my picks are superior. And I’d like to think I’ve gotten pretty good at performing this act and am happy with the outcome — as are, I presume, Scribbleskiff’s faithful readers. (But, please, don’t make me explain my recent two-fers by JJ or Me’Shell Ndegeocello.)

On the whole, I believe my eclectic jukebox approach, though not exactly music to the music industry’s ears, is equally as enjoyable as a completist’s and allows me to spread the love a little wider.

However, recent releases by two different artists — one I knew well but in a different context, and one I wanted to know better — have proven too tempting. After previewing all the tracks online, I realized I just couldn’t make the hard choices. In both cases, I had to suspend my “rule of two” and go whole hole. Luckily these decisions have been more than just wallet-wearying – they’ve been eye-opening and mind-expanding. In fact, I can honestly say my latest purchases sound so good they are literally out of this world – out of the American pop music world, that is.

Following are brief reviews of each record, along with a sample song or two (click here to get Flash player version). You may also listen to a playlist featuring other songs by these and related or similar-sounding artists by visiting the Scribbleskiff page at 8tracks.com (just click here). I’d be willing to bet that, after listening to these cuts, you won’t be able to pick just one either. Enjoy!

Go, by Jonsi

Go, Jonsi (XL Recording). Jonsi is the nickname of Jon Thor Birgisson, the lead singer and creative force behind Sigur Ros, an electronic-folk group from Iceland known for their often foreboding experimental compositions. I once compared one of their songs to the music that I imagined the Elves in The Lord of the Rings would make if they formed a rock band: mystical, ethereal, alien. Well, as it turns out, Legolas himself has put out a solo record. (I also recently discovered that the volcano Eyjafjallajokull erupted with a similar soundtrack.) Like his band’s output, Jonsi’s solo debut — equal parts Animal Collective, Enya, Jon Anderson (of Yes), and Bjork — is expectedly noisy, romantic, sweeping, and weird. Yet it’s also remarkably diverse and complex, a witches brew brimming with lush string and peppy brass arrangements; layers of keyboards, both piano and synths; some surprisingly offbeat (literally) drumming and playful rhythms; and an odd array of musical instruments and vocalizations. It’s an eclectic collection of beautiful songs, really, very different from a Sigur Ros LP in many ways and unlike anything you’d expect to hear on the so-called U.S. “indie music” scene right now — and yet somehow reflective of that genre’s independent spirit. Best of all, Jonsi sings (mostly) in English, which is a welcome departure from the beguiling though nearly impenetrable patois of Icelandic and a make-believe language he usually warbles in. I really like the lead-off track and single, “Go Do” (watch the video here), which showcases Jonsi’s avian vocal range, soaring between tenor and high-altitude falsetto, buoyed by a mixture of polyrhythms and found sounds. Other favorites include the lilting “Boy Lilikoi,” the dramatic “Tornado,” and the anthemic “Grow Till Tall.” This is a great soundtrack for an early morning – it’s uplifting without being saccharine, mythical and ambient, yet devoid of any New-Age bombast. If you seek musical inspiration at the start of the day then, by all means, go buy Go.

Listen to “Boy Lilikoi” (mp3):

Trans-Continental Hustle, by Gogol Bordello

Trans-Continental Hustle, Gogol Bordello (Columbia). Now, if you’d rather skip the spacey sonority of Jonsi and jump right to the punch-, er, line, then these Slavic eccentrics are what you seek. From the opening chorus of “Pala Tute,” the opening track, Gogol Bordello flounces on your sonic doorstep, banging on the knocker with one hand and holding a bottle of vodka in the other (watch them perform it live here). Peddling songs in a sprawling musical style known as “Gypsy punk cabaret” — an apt term for a rabble of Romani merry-makers whose sound is at once grounded in Old World traditions and at the same time poised to grind your face with their fists — Eugene Hutz, the scrawny, scruffy Ukraine-born band leader and head nogoodnik, has a flair for the dramatic. His voice sounds at times like a sneering, snarlier version of Shane McGowan (think The Pogues, but with Russian accents), and at other times more comical and showy, like a Ringling Bros. ringleader or a meeting of Kermit the Frog and The Count. But the music he makes is anything but laughable. It’s a Molatov cocktail of influences — a shakerful of everything from European folk tunes, to ska, punk, metal, flamenco, and country — covering a range of political and social issues, all from an outsider’s orientation: cultural revolution, racial outrage, star-crossed love, immigration, and so on. And all sung in a “wild and crazy,” tongue-twisting mash-up of languages, lyrics, and labels: “Last One Goes the Hope” (huh?) or “Immigraniada (We Comin’ Rougher)” (wha?). But all of this incongruity and inelegance somehow makes the music all the more intoxicating and infectious. Listening to this new collection by Gogol Bordello — their major label debut, in fact, with Rick Rubin as producer — reminds me of my first taste of real Hungarian Goulash in Budapest. I wasn’t exactly sure what was in it, or how it was made, but it was so indescribably good that I knew, after only the first bite, I had to have more right away.

Listen to “My Companjera” (mp3):

As always, tell us what you think. Are you a fan of Sigur Ros or Gogol Bordello? Have you heard either of these new records yet? What are your favorite songs? Let us know by leaving a comment below. By the way, this is our 100th post! Thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting these past two years — especially you, dear reader, the one who has reached this the end of the penultimate paragraph.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

To celebrate American Craft Beer Week, which was held May 17th-23rd, I got in touch with my inner Yankee and set out to discover something new and different. I’m not sure how successful I was, but sometimes achievement is measured by how much you learn, not how far you reach.

Three to be gluten-free!

You may be wondering, “American Craft Beer Week? What is that, just some gimmicky group hug created by beer fetishists and joiners like you?” Don’t be so sure. Started in 2006, the “celebration” has been slowly gaining momentum. According to the Brewers Association, one of the sponsors, this past week was promoted by hundreds of craft brewers and beer retailers, and celebrated by thousands of beer drinkers — in fact, there were more than 22,000 “likes” recorded on the event’s Facebook page. Even Congress got into the act by approving a Resolution that supports the “goals and ideals of American Craft Beer Week.”

So, in the spirit of those of ideals — and at the prompting of several readers — I thought I’d do a tasting of some craft beers for those people who can’t drink craft beers. Specifically, people with gluten-related medical issues, such as a wheat allergy or celiac disease. As a lactose-intolerant type myself, I can only begin to sympathize with the gluten-sensitive. As I’ve previously mentioned here, it’s hard enough having to eliminate some foodstuffs from your diet, such as milk (for which I found a substitute) or ice cream and yogurt, which I discovered are somewhat dispensable. But, no bread or pasta or crackers or cereal — wow! And, worse, no hefeweisen or rye stout? Yikes!!

Because I’m no expert on gluten-bound foods, nor do I play one in the blogosphere, I sought expert advice from my friend (really my mother-in-law’s friend) Marla, who lives gluten-free, or “GF,” as she calls it.

For starters, I needed to know what exactly gluten is. According to Marla, gluten is a protein found in just about all the main grains — wheat, rye, and barley — and all their derivatives. This makes eating a “normal, healthy diet” quite challenging for her and others. Or worse: “[Because] malt is made from barley, my favorite candy from childhood, malted milk balls, are verboten!” That also means beer, too, because it’s made with malt from any of the above-mentioned grains.

Does it really matter, though, I wondered (blissfully, arrogantly ignorant)? Is gluten really a big deal? According to Marla, “research indicates that one 1/100 of a slice of bread contains sufficient gluten to trigger the auto-immune response that is at the heart of celiac disease.” Gulp.

Luckily, she says, there are GF alternatives, such as flour made from tapioca, rice, or almonds that can be used with good results to make bread, noodles, and pasta. Other GF foodstuffs include barbecue sauces for spare-ribs or chicken wings, which are a staple in her house (and ours). Even some exotic food can be GF. Lots of Thai dishes, for instance, are safe because the noodles and thickeners are made with rice, which does not contain gluten.

And now alternative ingredients are emerging for making beers to go with GF meals. Of course, most of these products would defy the Reinheitsgebot, a German purity law from the 15th century that’s still in effect, which decreed that beer could only be made with four ingredients (water, barley, yeast and hops). But when have beer-makers (and -drinkers) needed any stinkin’ badges?

The most common grain substitute is sorghum, a species of grass primarily cultivated as animal feed in the U.S. and around the world. In China, ground sorghum (the main alternative to wheat in the northern regions) is fermented and distilled to produce maotai, one of that country’s most popular liquors. So it makes sense that some brewers would experiment with sorghum to make GF lagers and ales. And as others begin working with novel GF ingredients, more options are becoming available to consumers.

I was only able to locate three GF beers locally, but I’ve been told there are quite a few on the market. What I discovered in my mini-tasting was that, as with many exchanges, GF beers are not exactly a 1:1 substitution for their non-GF siblings — there are still some real taste differences. But, like soy milk, you can get used to the diversity if you want a similar-to experience. Here, then, are my notes on three beer-pretenders that I would happily share with friends like Marla. Enjoy!

• G-Free, St. Peter’s Brewery Co. At first glance in the glass, I couldn’t tell if this import was any different from other English ales. G-Free pours out a clear, golden-coppery color and offers moderate carbonation with fine foamy lacing. And there’s an initial mild hops aroma, with some citrus notes (mainly orange and lemon) and a whiff of candy. But it’s the sorghum-based beer’s taste that sets it apart. Without a traditional malt base, the flavors are much different than an ordinary ale’s — sweeter, sharper, and even tangier — and there was even less body than, say, a bitter. In fact, the mouthfeel reminded me more of a cider, even a pear cider, than a “beer.” Although very fruity and certainly refreshing, this beverage proved a stumper for pairing with anything other than light appetizers. It was tasty with dried figs, nuts, and some mild cheese, for instance, and perhaps it could serve well with a salad or fish. But it would be a sweet pushover for any bolder dishes.

• New Grist, Lakefront Brewery Inc. Like the St. Peter’s, this sorghum-supported beer also was initially deceiving. Very pale in color and with some bubble action that quickly dispersed, New Grist looked and smelled like a pilsner and was nearly indistinguishable next to a glass of Bud Light. Once again, though, the taste was unexpected. Although also cider-like, the aromas and flavors here were more complex and not as sweet as the St. Peter’s. There was a hint of yeasty witbier-like spiciness, which is odd since there shouldn’t have been even a shaft of wheat near the mashing tun. The label says the ingredients include “rice extract,” which may contribute to its drier, more refined sweetness. And it was the inclusion of the rice that inspired me to try this beer with some spicy tuna sushi rolls — can you say feng shui? Fruity and tangy, like sake, the New Grist enhanced the natural sweetness of the fish and ginger and was also cold and carbonated enough to wash away the salty soy sauce and wasabi spices between bites. I’d be tempted to try it with steamed crabs or shrimp, too (if I wasn’t allergic to shellfish, that is).

• Toleration Ale, Hambleton Ales. This was the most beerish in the bunch. Dark and tawny in the glass, with lots of racy bubbles and a hoppy aroma, Toleration appeared as alluring as a pint of Newcastle brown ale. Unlike the other tastees, though, Toleration is not brewed with sorghum and instead includes a mix of unspecified “dark sugars” and three different kinds of hops, according to the label. As a result, the taste was more cola- than cider-like, with a noticeable molasses or brown-sugar sweetness. There was also a definite yeastiness to each glassful and an unbalanced homebrew-like bouquet I found appealing. As a result, the beer paired up well with more flavorful foods, like a nutty-dry English Cheddar, as well as sausages with pan-seared cherry tomatoes and onions. I imagine Toleration also would be delicious with a slice of tomato-topped cheese pizza — made with a GF crust, of course. And it washed down a handful of peanut M&Ms tolerably well, too.

Other GF beers on the market that I read about but didn’t try include:

• Bard’s Tale Golden Dragon, Bard’s Beer, a 100% sorghum-based lager

• Honey Beer, Ramapo Valley Brewery, a honey-based lager

• Messagere Red, Nouvelle-France Brewery, a red ale made from rice malt and millet

In the end, I have to say that, though the oddball flavors of GF beers grew on me as I sipped and supped, given the choice I would reach for a barley- or wheat-based malt beverage every time. Of course, I have the luxury of being picky like that (at this point in my life, at least). However, for those people who don’t and must otherwise go without beer (perish the thought!), the good news is that some GF brews offer a very interesting and tasty Plan B.

For more information on gluten intolerance, including lists of GF products and recipes, visit the newly launched Web site Gling. Other useful repositories for GF info include Glutenfreeda and Gluten Free Life.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you tried any GF beers yet? If so, which was your favorite — and what food made the best pairing? Or are there other, alternative beverages that you think everyone should be trying? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

Sometimes, the best way to learn something about yourself is to make a connection with someone else.

I suspect my wife and oldest daughter understand this. Over the past several years, they have developed a close relationship in an unlikely way — by reading books. Most moms and their girls pal up over other, more traditional activities, like shopping for shoes or cooking. And though this pair shares those interests, their bond over books is strongest, right now.

It all started with the first Harry Potter, when Anna was 9 or so. They took turns reading it one summer, discussing it at length, loaning it to their friends, and, eventually, rereading it prior to the movie’s release. They cruised likewise through each subsequent volume in the series, as it was published, and never let up. They’ve since progressed to other similar fantasy books, including the Twilight cycle, and more. I suspect (and hope) that their hobby has become a habit that will continue for many years to come.

To be honest, I’ve always felt a twinge of jealousy over this relationship. Although I haven’t had much interest in the books they’ve read — and wouldn’t want to intervene for fear of changing the dynamics — I have relished the thought of sharing a similar experience.

My son, Will, my likely partner, had never shown enough interest in books to make this happen. He was too young to be swept up by the first wave of Hogwarts hogwash, and though I read the first few books to him at bedtime, he never developed an affinity for any of it. He has always enjoyed having me read books to him, especially adventure stories, and we’ve devoured quite a few over the years — everything from Treasure Island and the Hardy Boys series to The Bones on Black Spruce Mountain by David Budbill and The Neddiad by Daniel Pinkwater. All terrific books, mind you, but it’s not the same kind of give-and-take affair.

Occasionally a book has caught his attention, such as Dave Barry’s fluffy Peter and The Starcatchers or the lightweight Wimpy Kid diaries, and even more challenging novels, such as Go Big or Go Home, which he liked so much he wrote about it here. But he has struggled with reading, for many reasons, and so, few books seem to inspire him enough to invest his free time, or to involve me, in the way that Potter did it for Anna and Amy.

Until now, that is. Early this year, Will discovered The Lightning Thief, the first in the Percy Jackson & The Olympians series. And suddenly his attitude toward reading was transformed, in epic proportions, from apathy to absorption. His only struggle involved putting the book down, no matter the time of day, and he practically raced to finish it in time for the release of the movie — in fact, he declared (older-sister-style) that the family could not go see the film version over spring break until he had read all 375 pages. (He did finish it in time, by the way, and we did all go to the movie, which we thoroughly enjoyed.) Best of all, he decided to conquer the whole series, on his own, and asked me to join him.

You may be wondering (as I was, at first), what’s the hook? What made such a difference? Well, there are several causes I can point to, after having read the book and seen it adapted for the big screen. For one thing, Rick Riordan, the author, creates a fast-paced, fresh and funny take on the quintessential hero’s quest. Think Harry Potter meets Greg Heffley. It’s magical and mysterious, hip and humorous. What’s not to like about that?

Also, and this is important personally for Will and for me, Percy (whose full name is Perseus) has to deal with some learning and behavioral issues — for instance, he struggles with reading and sometimes experiences “moments,” as he says, “when my brain falls asleep or something and the next thing I know I’ve missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it.” As it turns out, Percy’s disabilities stem from the fact that he was born a demi-god, the child of a mortal woman and a Greek god — one of “the big three,” in fact — so he is better equipped for the ancient world than his own.

Sadly my own issues are far more pedestrian, though no less surprising, at least to Will. My confession to him, when agreeing to our mini “book club,” that I am a tediously slow reader was an eye-opener. He assumed that, because I have made a career out of reading and writing, I would speed past him as we moved through the series together. Truth is, my natural word-for-word pace is slower than average. In other words, I read every word — sometimes more than once — and only partly because I have to. Am I a slow reader because of my profession, or did I find a job that suits my, well, abilities? I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s what I do and I like it this way. It’s an occupational hazard, yes, but it has put the two of us on a level playing field.

However, I think the biggest reason that Will and I have been captivated by the adventures of Percy and his pals is the author’s use of Greek mythology to tell his tale of heroism. Sure, plenty of heroes (super and otherwise) have occupied Will’s world over the years: everything from comic books about Superman, Batman and Spider-man, to the “Rescue Heroes” dolls he played with for hours as a little boy, to his obsession with the Star Wars trilogies, and, lately, to the sports heroes he talks about as if they were his companions. But all of these characters, real or imagined, are drawn, directly or indirectly, from the sources that fill the pages of the Percy Jackson books.

As any faithful Scribbleskiff reader knows, the Greek myths are my Achilles heel. (Pun intended, and here’s a reason why.) They are some of the oldest stories in the civilized world and they are packed with enough meaning and possibility to be as relevant and useful in Homer’s world as they are in Homer Simpson’s. In other words, mythology is the stuff that little boys (of any age) are made of.

And this distinction must have contributed to Will’s low interest in the Potter books. A story about adolescent wizards flying around on brooms and conjuring spells is fantastically (and lucratively) entertaining, for sure, but their world is make-believe and exists outside the realm of “real life.” On the other hand, reading about how a relatively normal kid must learn to live with his troubling legacy (he is not “just your average son of Poseidon,” after all), as well as the discovery that his disabilities are actually his strengths, must be more universally meaningful and gratifying.

At least it is to me. And to Will, who is clearly enjoying our voyage of discovery. He is already way ahead of me and has reached the point where he’ll say, “Dad, wait till you get to the part where [such-and-such] happens…” And when I ask, “Why, what’s going to happen?” He’ll simply reply, smiling slyly, “You’ll have to read it for yourself.” Sometimes, and this is most exciting to me, he’ll ask, “Where are you now? Did you get to the part about the blue food?” And I’ll say, “Will, there’s no blue food.” “Sure there is, Dad,” he’ll say confidently. Then he’ll flip my book open, thumb through a few pages, and with total recall point to one small paragraph early in a book he read three books ago and say, “here, see?” Will’s eagerness to lead, and my desire to follow, is proving to be the most palpable benefit of our new partnership.

All this talk of fathers and sons and books and mythology has caused me to reconsider a volume of poetry I received earlier this year but only partially read. And it’s caused me to reconsider the notion of relationships in general.

Called My Minotaur, the book is actually a collaboration between Keith Holyoak, a translator and poet, and his son Jim, an artist. (You can read more about the book, including an excerpt, here.) My Minotaur seemed intriguing, not only for the title and enigmatic cover, but also for the idea of it: combining poems and illustrations. It can be a potentially rewarding endeavor that, unfortunately, rarely pays off. Quite often the written work and the work of art (say, photography) are created separately and thus have little in common when commingled. The result can be inspiring but incoherent.

But that’s not the case here. The Holyoaks worked together to create this book, and nearly every tightly crafted, often terse poem sits opposite an equally skillful illustration. More important, many of the poems and drawings show a direct correlation, as with “In the Damp Cellar,” a brief poem of four couplets that is rendered by the artist as a stack of books, with each pair of lines written on the spines. It’s an effective way of giving greater depth to an otherwise brief experience. The same holds true with “Portrait of Jesse Villareal,” a narrative poem about two artists encountering, mingling with and interpreting the same subject matter (you can listen to and watch that encounter on this video): The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

In other instances, where the ties between the visual and literal are much harder to discern and more open to imagination, the works still seem to sprout from the same source of inspiration. These poems and illustrations interact with and react to each other on the page, rather than simply coexisting across the expanse of whiteness between them. And that is the source of their power and beauty.

This to me serves as the perfect metaphor for any good relationship, father-and-son or otherwise — especially one that’s collaborative (from the Latin, meaning “to toil together”) and thus becomes as varied and expressive, mysterious and linear, argumentative and harmonious, etc., as any of the entries in this handsome book.

I didn’t fully appreciate My Minotaur until I began my own literary relations with my son, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps the experience of interacting with Will for a common cause — his newfound interest in books, for instance — got me thinking, about the benefits of reading books, the importance of family ties, the necessity of coactivity, and so on. And maybe that’s the point: cooperation can lead to edification and growth. I suspect the Holyoaks would agree with this.

Right now my son and I are only co-readers. But perhaps some day soon my role with Will, who has also expressed an interest in (and shown some aptitude for) writing and creativity, will be transformed to that of co-authors, as well.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you read either of these books? What are your stories from Greek mythology? Do you think artistic collaboration is a good idea or a bad one? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

As T. S. Eliot once famously remarked, regarding the nature of talent and artistic development, “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.” And although Eliot was lashing out against critics who accused his allusive poem The Waste Land of mere plagiarism, he was also providing a valuable template for any would-be artist, whether bard or bass player. In other words, borrowing from your predecessors is fine, just don’t act like a copy-cat.

It’s definitely a ruler I’ve used to quantify my work habits. But it wasn’t until recently that I took a closer look at the rest of the quote and realized its currency for music reviews: “Bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, something different.”

Another case of "Adult Education"?

That is certainly the case with the The Dark Side of Hall and Oates, a new tribute album by an artist collective known as Koot Hoomi. There is little imitation here, and certainly no defacing, either (not intentional, I don’t think). What there is is good poets taking someone else’s work and making into something much better and different. Definitely different.

First, a bit of a disclaimer: The immensely popular duo Daryl Hall & John Oates represents just about everything I hated about pop music in the late 1970s and early ’80s — from their wacky hairdos and goofy posturing to their watered-down soul and gooey overproduction. I avoided their songs whenever they came on the radio, which was often back in the day. And I regarded their fame as a watermark — if you liked them, there was a good chance I might not like you.

So when I recently found out there were not one but two new H&O tribute records hitting the market, recorded by two different groups of hip kids, my first reaction was, “What for?” quickly followed by, “What the?!” I mean, do we really need more versions of these tired old tunes? If I want to hear “Maneater,” complete with its cringe-making sax solo, I’ll go to my dentist’s office. Worse — and this thought concerned me the most — could it mean that H&O had somehow become cool, especially among young alt- and indie-rockers, and were receiving a revival?

The truth is I was right, at least in one regard, and completely off-base in just about every other way.

In addition to the aforementioned Dark Side release, the other H&O tribute record to hit the shelves this spring was Interpreting the Masters, Vol. 1 (A Tribute to Daryl Hall and John Oates), by The Bird and the Bee. For their contribution, the LA-based synthpop pair gathered up the most popular and revered H&O songs, dusted them off, and updated them a bit according to their New Wave-like dance-club whims. They’re faithful covers and don’t stray too far from the outline of the originals. Their interpretation of the urgent yet bouncy “Private Eyes,” for instance, sounds a little breathier and more uptempo (you can sample their version here). But it’s essentially the same song, with a more contemporary coating. I imagine the result will be endorsed by fans of both bands, it just isn’t surprising or satisfying.

On the other hand, the group known as Koot Hoomi — which I assume takes its name from Kuthumi, one of the “Masters of the Ancient Wisdom,” whose job is (appropriately) to bring back knowledge that has been lost to mankind, according to the Theosophists — has created an album of cover songs like none I’ve encountered in quite a while. Koot Hoomi doesn’t merely repeat history, reviving the biggest hits from the Hall & Oates catalog note for note. Instead, they tackle lesser-known and relatively obscure cuts, too, reinterpreting (and, in some cases, completely reinventing) them all.

The genius (and maturity) here lies not in the choice of songs but in the way the musicians have chosen to play them. According to the band’s Web site, the album was recorded “in living rooms and basements, using cheap instruments” and analog tape devices, which creates a somewhat homemade, “lo-fi” atmosphere. And that was appealing to me right away, given the heavy-handed production quality of the originals. (I know that was “an ’80s thing,” and not necessarily H&O’s intention, but it’s always been a big turnoff for me.)

Moreover, there appears to be a 1:1 relationship between song recognition and interpretation. In other words, Koot Hoomi give the lesser-known tracks like “Say It Isn’t So,” “I’m Sorry,” and “Had I Known You Better Then,” a stripped-down, straightforward treatment that captures the essence of the originals but creates something that’s novel and strong enough to stand on its own.

Listen to “Had I Known You Better Then” (mp3):

What was surprising to me is that, by going back to the basics and clearing away the layers of phony studio effects, the musicians are able to reveal an artistry in the songwriting — that’s right, I said “artistry” — that I missed in the originals. Which makes sense, I guess: it’s why I liked “MTV Unplugged” so much.

However, it’s the more popular tunes that bring out “the dark side” of Koot Hoomi. Each of the band members takes a turn taking apart the three chart-toppers that are included, sometimes with a scalpel and other times with a hammer. This eye-opening approach — doing the unexpected to the thing with the most expectations — now seems the most appropriate for a tribute record. It’s what Surrealist artist Meret Oppenheim was aiming for with her fur-lined teacup: sometimes, to recognize the value in a familiar object, you have to look at it in a new (even absurd) way.

For instance, “Maneater” is sung by a woman, group member Harper Piver, which turns the whole “dating-advice” conceit on its head. Meanwhile, “Kiss on My List” gets a “suite” transformation, going from a traditional four-minute pop song to an epic three-parter, complete with Apocalypse Now-like helicopters, psychedelic guitar flourishes, and a host of found sounds, including an electric drill (!).

Listen to “Kiss on My List” (mp3):

This is not parody, mind you, but there are definitely some moments when the tongue is planted firmly in the cheek — as in “I Can’t Go For That (Suite),” with its humorous rap outro, an outlandish rant about pop culture that name-checks everyone from L. Ron Hubbard to Celine Dion. It’s not for the fainthearted true believer.

No, and that’s the point here. If what you seek is a reworked yet fairly loyal rendition of your favorite Hall and Oates classics, then go get The Bird and the Bee’s new collection. I’m sure you will not be disappointed. But if you want to try something a little bit different, something that challenges your opinions and yet is still gratifying, then come over to The Dark Side of Hall and Oates.

It may be true that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery — at least that’s my mother used to say when my little sisters were “copying” me in the backseat of our Ford station-wagon. But, as I learned by listening to and comparing these two new tribute records, imitation may be most meaningful if it causes you to reconsider the original source and, possibly, see things you hadn’t seen before.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you heard either of these tribute records before? What are your favorite songs by Hall and Oates? Do you think cover songs, good or bad, have any value? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

Spring is a time of renewal. I know that sounds painfully obvious. But to stay grounded in this hyperspeed workaday world in which I dwell (and tend to dwell on), every once in a while I have to stop and remind myself of such simplicitudes.

Three cheers for these new beers!

Fortunately, I don’t have to look very far for evidence — no farther than the dooryard, in fact, where the lilac and azalea bushes, which were splayed and crushed under the weight of nearly three feet of snow barely two months ago, are now bursting with blossoms in colors so vibrant they defy nature (and hurt the eyes).

And for me, renewal in the landscape begets a renewed interest in the culinary arts. In other words, it’s once again time to sweep off the porch (or patio or deck), fire up the grill, and invite a few friends and neighbors over for an outdoor dinner party.

Spring is a season of uncertainty too, weather-wise at least, here in the middling Mid-Atlantic. Some days start out surprisingly cool and grow gradually warmer, for instance, while others display a more contrariwise behavior. Same goes for the nights, too. In fact, it’s a rare evening right now that doesn’t dip to a setting on the Fahrenheit that’s fully half of what it reached in the daytime. And do I need to remind you of the rain? (Apparently, nobody should trust or fool Mother Nature.)

So, with so much barometric instability, it’s important to remain flexible. That might mean having a fire pit or two loaded and ready for lighting, should the evening air suddenly make everyone think “sweater!”, or being prepared to serve a mix of hot and cold dishes, just in case.

Such versatility is what you should seek in a beer selection, as well. Or, at least, it’s wise to have a variety of options on hand. For example, a cold pilsner is fine to pair with light fare on a hot afternoon, but if the the temp drops as the light fades, your guests may want a drink that is a bit more bracing.

Following are three very different beers, all relatively new to the tasters at Scribbleskiff, that are designed to suit a variety of purposes and pairings. Enjoy!

Stateside Saison, Stillwater Artisanal Ales. The saison style, which means “season” in French, is a traditional Belgian pale ale originally brewed in small batches and served as a summer refresher for the men working the fields in rural Belgium. Now available year-round, from a large number of breweries (Saison Dupont is one of the best-known), this style is popular both for its complex flavor and its flexibility.

Like a typical traditional, Stateside Saison is golden straw in color and greets the glass with an earthy, farm-funky mix of aromas and tastes, from fruit (predominantly oranges and bananas) to lemongrass, honey, and wheat. It’s dry and tangy, like a sharp Chardonnay, but with lots of pleasing bubbles, and it’s plenty zesty and creamy on the palate. Also, like its Belgian siblings, this beer is brewed in small, artisanal batches and bottle-conditioned, which provides for some variation between batches and an extended shelf life.

Such multiplicity leads to its multifariousness, however, creating an adaptable potable with plenty of body to handle just about any dish — citrusy and spicy enough for BBQ, for instance, but also feisty enough for fiery Asian cuisine, and still light enough for light fare, such as seafood or appetizers. I thought Stateside was the ideal companion to a diverse spread of “locavorous” delicacies, including steamed shrimp and grilled lamb, that were served at a recent book-signing party for a beautiful new cookbook, Dishing Up Maryland.

The best part about the beer is that, up until 6 months ago, its creator Brian Strumke was a homebrewer. (Here’s a peek at his Cinderella story. I had the pleasure of tasting one of Strumke’s pre-startup concoctions and wrote about my experience here). Not surprising, he’s become a local hero and inspiration for a lot of Baltimore-based beer enthusiasts who hope, Charlie Brown-like, to get a contract some day, too.

Gubna, Oskar Blues Brewing Co. The crafty brewers at Oskar Blues continue to amaze me by finding new and surprising ways to expand their line of high-quality beer in a can. (I smile quietly to myself every time I write that last phrase.) In fact, of all their beers I’ve tried (the most notable encounter was discussed here), this new “rotating seasonal” may be the whiz-banger.

Although light amber in color, with very little fizz and a subtly floral aroma, Gubna is a powder keg of flavor. It’s overtly hoppy, even for an Imperial India pale ale (IPA), a Yankee-bred hybrid style of beer that’s designed to go to 11. As a result, this brew blasts the tastebuds with juicy-sour citrus notes that luckily don’t overwhelm the beer’s mildly spicy malt-sweetness. Oddly, the brewery used only one kind of hops (Summit) — a typical IPA consists of 2-3 varieties — but used it generously, including a secondary dry-hopping stage, post-fermentation. This deliberate hop-stuffing contributes to the beer’s brisk, resiny bitterness, which I enjoy, and its high alcohol content (10%), which relegates it to sipper status.

Not surprising, it’s delicious with full-bodied foods. For instance, I enjoyed a can of Gubna with chicken shwarma, a smoky, savory Mediterranean takeout dish. It was well-equipped to embrace the garlicky brine, and it went “harumpf” in the face of the peppery tahini sauce. As such, I imagine it would also be hard to beat with grilled bratwurst smothered in onions, green peppers, and Dijon mustard. Best of all, because aluminum cans don’t break and use less energy to recycle than glass, any member of Oskar’s gang is a natural for outdoor party-going.

Anchor Bock, Anchor Brewing Company. As is typical with bock beer, Anchor’s entrant in this category is dark and alluring. But that’s where the similarities end, for the most part — and that’s a good thing.

Bock beer is a traditional Bavarian lager originally brewed and consumed by Roman Catholic monks in Germany. Rich in nutrients and sugar content, bock was intended to provide sustenance for the monastery’s members during the Lenten period of fasting. Nowadays, bock is available year-round — Shiner Bock is a popular native varietal — though I think it’s still best enjoyed around Easter.

A relatively new seasonal offering from the makers of Anchor Steam (one of my faves), Anchor Bock features the style’s expected coppery color and roasted malt flavors, like toffee and caramel. But it offers a distinct and somewhat untypical bitter-coffee aftertaste more typical of a stout. And that’s a refreshing touch that cuts the often cloying sugariness. And, with a modest hops-fruity aroma and flavor, and a relatively moderate alcohol content (about 5%), Anchor Bock is very drinkable with a variety of flush foodstuffs. For instance, I’ve poured it before meals, as a cheery mate to a plate of creamy cheeses, and afterward, as a cozy chum for some homemade chocolate chip cookies. Now that’s a beer for all seasons!

So there you have it, three new excuses to pour a glass of cheer with friends and family this spring — despite how Mother Nature, invited or otherwise, decides to behave.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you tried any of these beers yet? If so, which was your favorite — and what food made the best pairing? Or are there other new releases that you think everyone should be trying? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.

When is a selection of new music like a flower garden? Right now, actually.

Cultivate your music collection with new songs by Clem Snide and others.

With the year barely one-quarter old and the ravages of winter not quite a distant memory, there is plenty of budding already occurring, on the stem and in the ears. New songs are cropping up with the same frequency and intensity as the colorful carbon-based life forms that have begun appearing all over the neighborhood.

As in the garden, some of the musical flowering is expected — though no less marvelous — as favorite perennials faithfully deliver new blossoms once again. There are a few unexpected beauties, too, both from those we thought incapable of blooming again and the wild ones we’ve never encountered before. And, as always, there are plenty of novelties, confections, and the odd hybrid or two sure to satisfy any garden-variety music harvester.

There’s so much to get to, in fact, that this week I will spare you the usual literary cultivating and cut to the arrangement. Best of all, thanks to the magic of a recent upgrade, we can now let the songs speak for themselves. Following each brief description you’ll find a play button. Just pick, click, and enjoy!

Also, be sure to click on the many links below for additional info (open each as a new tab or window), and then follow the threads to find out where you can download or purchase the songs. Or you can listen to a playlist that features these songs and others at the Scribbleskiff page on the 8tracks Web site. Just click HERE, open as a new tab or window, and let the music play as you read along.

“Awake My Soul,” Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More. These guys had me at “hello”: Any song that opens with the words “fickle” and “woozy” is a keeper in my book. Especially on an album that steals its title from Shakespeare. Though starting slowly, like an Avett Brothers ballad, “Awake” morphs into an acoustic rocker that rivals the best of The Waterboys and would rouse any sleeping psyche.

“Castaways,” Shearwater, The Golden Archipelago. At first, Jonathan Meiburg’s vocals on this track remind me of Bryan Ferry’s. But it becomes quickly apparent that he and his group forge music with much more grandeur and gravitas than anything dreamt of in Roxy Music’s philosophies. In fact, I imagine this song could serve as the official dirge played upon arrival at the shores of Avalon itself.

“Modern Drift,” Efterklang, Magic Chairs. Although I’ve never heard of this Scandinavian group, I do feel like I’ve heard this song before. Or at least it sounds familiar — the trilling piano swirling throughout could come from a Philip Glass composition, for instance, and the strings and vocals follow the romantic sweep of Arcade Fire. But it’s their ability to combine the old-fashioned and newfangled that makes it feel unique.

“The Mall and Misery,” Broken Bells, Broken Bells. I’ve always wondered what it would be like if members of The Shins and Gnarls Barkley collaborated on an album. Actually, I’ve never wondered that, but at least I now know what it might sound like: Broken Bells. And despite the name, James Mercer’s shimmery vocals and jangly guitar-work here chime sweetly with the street-savvy rhythms and club-dub effects of Danger Mouse (aka Brian Burton).

“Laura Palmer’s Prom,” You Say Party! We Say Die! XXXX. Any fan of Twin Peaks will immediately recognize the literal and aural allusions to David Lynch’s classic TV drama in this song, from the name-checked murdered high-schooler to the creepy synths of Angelo Badalamenti. But this Vancouver-based five-piece keeps the tributary nightmares at bay with heavy doses of dreamy New Wave dance-beats straight out of Sixteen Candles.

“There Are Listed Buildings,” Los Campesinos! Romance Is Boring. Not just another group with an exclamation point in its moniker, these seven Welshmen earn the right to sport their punctuation. They play a high-octane form of power pop I’d call “soft-core punk” — pounding drums, running bass lines, group shouting, and plenty of catchy guitar hooks — but with just the right mix of restraint and mellifluence to make it a joyful noise.

“Walls,” Shout Out Louds, Work. This Swedish group appeared on my radar in 2007, and I immediately fell for their ersatz ’80s sound — an impure Cure, if you will, jittery and atmospheric but slightly more upbeat. They’ve become rangier since then, as this single shows, less imitative, more complex and weightier instrumentally. But it’s still positive, elegant, and instantly likable pop music.

“Written in Reverse,” Spoon, Transference. Ever prolific, though often erratic, Spoon has always seemed like an indie-rock version of NRBQ to me: A Brit-pop-influenced American roots-rock band that, when they’ve got rhythm, is hard to be beat. And this cut, from their seventh studio LP, is a case in point. It’s terse and moody, yet bursting with energy and groove appeal that gets me moving, in either direction.

“The Meat of Life,” Clem Snide, The Meat of Life. The group Clem Snide, as you might expect from their name, has been making edgy, slightly arch, alt-county-esque records off and on since the early 1990s. I say “off and on” not because they’re inconsistent (they’re solid, actually) but because every now and then they break up. Which likely explains the restiveness. Thankfully, though, they’re back together again and up to their same old tricks.

“Swim Until You Can’t See Land,” Frightened Rabbit, Winter of Mixed Drinks. As one of the first bands I covered at Scribbleskiff, Frightened Rabbit glows in my memory like an old flame. (Truthfully, as I admitted here, I’m as much a sucker for a Scottish brogue as I am a fan of lush, melodic arrangements.) Encountering them again, a few years later, I’m delighted to report that I’m not always prone to confabulation — they’re as good as I once thought they would be.

So, there you have it, a bouquet of 10 new songs offered to brighten up your spring. It’s also an offertory in honor of Record Store Day, which takes place this year on April 17. According to officials, Record Store Day is set aside “in celebration of the unique culture surrounding the more than 700 independent record stores in the USA” and similar stores around the world. Depending on the venue, festivities often include cookouts, live performances, meet-and-greets with local musicians, and more. Check the site to see what’s happening in your area.

I know I will. As faithful readers of this blog can attest, I may talk a lot about downloads and online music, but I’m an old softy when it comes to buying and collecting vinyl records.

As always, tell us what you think. Have you ever heard any of these songs yet? Which are your new favorites? Or are there other new releases that you think everyone should be listening to? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

And be sure to visit (and join) the Scribbleskiff page on Facebook (find it here), where you can partake in wall-to-wall conversations, find additional information and suggestions from readers, and more.