If not for Chad over at Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands it’s likely I might have let Jeremy Enigk, former singer of Sunny Day Real Estate, fade to black the digital black hole of my iTunes library.

When we last left in Enigk, in 2003, he had formed the Fire Theft with two of the other three members of SDRE. I enjoyed the group’s self-titled debut, though at that point, there had been so much drama surrounding Sunny Day – too many breakups and makeups to keep track of – that fans maybe disregarded the Fire Theft as just another tease to a SDRE reunion that wouldn’t materialize.

But there was the matter of Enigk’s epic (yes, I said it, epic) 1996 solo album, Return of the Frog Queen. (Speaking of, thank you, Sub Pop, for selling it on vinyl for $5 at the Pitchfork Music Festival.) Enigk’s declaration of born-again Christianity was rumored to be reasons for the breakup (the first) and the inspiration behind Frog Queen. As someone who grew up with hardly any religious direction (mother is Jewish; father is Irish-Catholic), I never was emotionally stirred by Enigk’s motives of faith … it didn’t bother me either way. That’s an admittedly naive outlook, but I didn’t – and still don’t – think that my limited religious views needed to be in line with Enigk’s to appreciate what he was doing as a musician.

So here we are 10 years later, and Enigk finally has a follow-up: World Waits (irony?), due for an October release on his Lewis Hollow imprint. In anything he’s done, Enigk somehow coaxes swells of uplifting and inspirational sound. SDRE’s final album, the Rising Tide, is a great example – or it could be that it caught me at a more vulnerable time: out of college, not really sure what the hell I was doing living in Milwaukee, away from girlfriend/family/etc.

But already on his new material, I’m finding myself pulled in emotionally. On River to Sea, Enigk, with that desperation in his voice, pretty much hits me over the head with this line:

“I’ve found my place where I have longed to be /
I can’t erase any mistake”

Pretty elegant in its simplicity, if you ask me.

Jeremy Enigk | Been Here Before
Jeremy Enigk | River to Sea

Of all the reviews, wrap-ups and write-ups I read about the Pitchfork Music Festival, one glaring omission from nearly all of them (including my own) was the set in the Biz 3 tent by Glenn Kotche, also known as the drummer for Wilco.

Having once aspired to play drums myself, I’ve been enthralled by Kotche in the Wilco setting. On stage, he’s focused and passionate; to me, he’s the most inspiring part to watch from the Wilco shows I’ve seen. Go back and listen to the drum work on I Am Trying to Break Your Heart for an example.

This year brought the release of his third solo release, Mobile (on Nonesuch), a riveting and disciplined collection of interpretive percussion work.

We watched Kotche’s live set at Pitchfork from behind the stage, where it still seemed impossible to take in the scope of his performance. (For the record, all members of Wilco, save for Jeff Tweedy, at least from what we could tell, were on hand.) He had drums, chimes, carved-up cymbals and doo-hickeys that looked like fruit baskets. There might even have been a laptop, too.

Despite the jammy/improvisational mask his music wears, you get the feeling Kotche meticulously maps out every note and movement. No sound seems wasted.

Glenn Kotche | Individual Trains

Having never paid much attention to Archers of Loaf or Crooked Fingers – despite being told on numerous occasions I should – I wasn’t sure what to expect from Eric Bachmann’s solo LP To The Races (out on Saddle Creek on Aug. 22). What I do know is that he is set to tour with Richard Buckner, one of my favorite artists, so I probably owed it to myself to listen. And, I gotta be honest, this is the first Saddle Creek release I’ve listened to (sorry, Bright Eyes fans).

According to a one-sheet at Saddle Creek, Bachmann wrote To The Races in June and July of 2005 “while voluntarily living in the back of his van.” Um, OK. I’m not sure why anyone would do that to themselves what with all this modern technology of running water and electricity we have. Bachmann then recorded the album in a hotel in Buxton, N.C. Is this the indie-rock Henry David Thoreau or what?

Living in a van (“down by the river!”) is either a genuine motive to reach some higher artistic power that I could never attain sitting in the comfort of my synthetic leather IKEA swivel chair or a story that looks great on a press release. I’ll guess the former.

It must have worked because To The Races is pretty gorgeous: the type of sparse, haunting acoustic storytelling that I love so much about Buckner. Their touring together seems like a natural fit.

The Buckner/Bachmann tour hits Tucson on Sept. 2 as part of the Club Congress anniversary party. (We’ll be at a wedding … which also happens to be the same day Centro-Matic plays Modified in Phoenix. This better be one hell of a wedding.)

Eric Bachmann | Lonesome Warrior
Eric Bachmann | Carrboro Woman

Related:
Muzzle of Bees, with its fresh new design, has a new Richard Buckner track.

Unrelated:
It’s my mom’s birthday today. She probably never reads this, much less logs on to the insanity that is the information superhighway, but I thought I’d tell her happy birthday anyway. She’s on an Alaskan cruise with a good family friend whose lymphoma is in remission, and I hope they’re both having a great time.

SHITDISCO bring their funky-disco-punk-whatever the fuck all the way from Glasgow, Scotland. They are known for throwing little shindigs around town in abandoned spaces through out Glasgow.

This may not be an earth shattering music experience, but I dare you not to shake that money maker a little (or at least swivel in your computer chair). Here’s a couple of songs from their sold out, self-produced single.

SHITDISCO | I Know Kung Fu

SHITDISCO | Disco Blood (Errors remix)

In about five hours, we’re supposed to be at the airport to head off to Chicago for this festival and to hang out with all sorts of peeps: Gorilla vs. Bear, Marathonpacks, My Old Kentucky Blog, Indie Interviews, Muzzle of Bees and a host of other blogger types that I’m sure I’m forgetting.

Thursday night, we might even be seeing the Cloud Room and Muse at the Avalon. Friday, we’re gonna try to scalp tickets to the Cardinals-Cubs (wish us luck), then later that night is the pre-festival show with Sunset Rubdown, the Joggers and Voxtrot at the Metro.

Saturday and Sunday is the festival, and then Annie and I are spending a couple extra days to see some of my family, friends and another Cubs game (vs. Diamondbacks on Monday).

I’m probably bringing the laptop, though I’m counting on Royce to keep the place warm while we’re away.

Here’s a some recent posts on a few of the bands playing the festival:

The Walkmen cover Mazarin
Mr. Lif live on KEXP
Spank Rock Sweet Talk w/remixes
Band of Horses live on KEXP

Over the weekend, I picked up one of those cheesy (though very convenient) “20th Century Masters” compilations for Buddy Holly. I’d been wanting to dive into Holly’s catalog, and this seemed like as good a place as any.

As amazing and intricate as some of our current music is, I had an urge to scale back. Not one song on this collection reaches the three-minute mark; True Love Ways at 2:51 is the longest. That seems like an amazing feat, considering the lasting power of Holly’s songs through the years. Less sometimes is more, eh?

Anyway, I’d always been interested in Holly because my dad had (which I now possess) an old Wurlitzer jukebox with at least one Holly 45 in there: Peggy Sue b/w Everyday. To me as a kid, Holly just seemed like one of those artists you pass off as an “oldie”; something only your parents would ever listen to, right?

But then in 2000, I took a job as a sportswriter in Lubbock, Texas, birthplace of Holly. Then I find out that I share the same birthday (Sept. 7) as Buddy. Just coincidences, yes, but enough to stir my interest. I visited the Buddy Holly Center a couple of times, and now regret never bringing a camera or fully absorbing the artifacts in there – lyric books, Lubbock High yearbooks, guitars. It also had on display his eyeglasses recovered from that fatal plane crash, which sort of creeped me out.

Not surprisingly, Lubbock, the “Hub City,” a somewhat barren and isolated locale, takes great pride in being Holly’s birthplace. There’s Buddy Holly Avenue, a Buddy Holly Recreation Area, a Buddy Holly statue (above) and so on. The Lubbock Avalanche-Journal (my onetime employer) has a site dedicated to archived stories about Holly, including a birth announcement mistakenly identifying Buddy as a girl. Oops.

Anyway, I don’t mean for this to be some all-encompassing history or biography. But I imagine many of you won’t ever make to Lubbock, which is just as well (though I will say that the city gets a bit of a bad rap). If anything, Lubbock has produced some great country musicians: Jimmie Dale Gilmore and the Maines Brothers among others. (That’s to speak nothing of one of my favorite albums, Richard Buckner’s Bloomed, being recorded there, with help from Lloyd Maines.)

My guess is the desolation and spartan landscape of Lubbock lends itself to mournful country music. So I’m always surprised when I listen to Holly and the bright guitars and inventive (for its time) instrumentation of his songs.

On Everyday, drummer Jerry Allison produces the procussion line by slapping his knee, and producer Norman Petty’s wife, Vi, played something called a celesta for the chimes effect.

Buddy Holly | Everyday