It takes quite an album to make me tilt my head and think, “wait, what was that?” It also takes quite a record for me to get home and give it another listen. Z-Trip’s debut album, Shifting Gears achieves this and more, with a little shimmy shake of your rear to boot.

For anyone in tune with hip hop or it’s roots, the name Z-Trip should be familiar and comfortable. A staple in the underground, a known genius for his abilities to rock a live crowd, he’s spent years shaping his own identity leading up to this release.

Hanging around with people like Cut Chemist of Jurassic 5, DJ Shadow, Numark and Q-Bert will get you noticed, but the ability to smash together Tool and Joanie Mitchell in front of 100,000 people and get their fists pumping in the air and dancing: that’s what gets you remembered.

Now, normally an album with more than one “guest appearance” makes me groan. ALBUM FILLER is what this screams. Yet leave it to Z-Trip to shake the mold. In fact, the entire album does just that. In a genre so stale, so bloated and so high on itself, Shifting Gears is the first true breath of fresh air that I’ve heard in many years. To me, this might just prove to be the party people’s answer to DJ Shadow’s Endtroducing (an album I hold in complete reverence).

Running through the disc, in a cyclical pattern, Z-Trip’s vinyl weighs a proverbial ton. His serious, contemplative tracks show the knowledge-dropping element of hip hop (Shock & Awe, feat. Chuck D of Public Enemy, and Revolution Part 2). He also displays his dark and moody side (perhaps hanging out with Shadow?) with Everything Changes, Walking Dead and Revolution Part 1. But don’t forget the rump-motivating party tracks. Z-Trip pays homage to old school and new school hip hop with All About the Music and The Get Down, respectively. The hip hop tracks are fun and head-nodding, without being “too underground” that it makes it obscure. The instrumental tracks are mature, soulful and funky…not just time killers to extend play time.

Z-Trip also shows his sense of humor with what I would call one of the discs (surprising) gems, Breakfast Club. A beat that is infectious and nasty, and a stellar performance by heroes Murs and Supernatural, the track is…well…hilarious. As the intro speaks, if you remember getting up on Saturday mornings to eat cereal and watch cartoons, you have to love this track. It name checks almost every major brand of cereal and pretty much every kid’s show that I can remember. And I like to think I can remember a lot of crap. Besides, anything that mentions both Orko (from He-Man) and Kids Incorporated is the f’ing bees-knees in my eyes.

This album gives me hope. I know it sounds dramatic and corny, but it’s true. This 70-minute journey into Z-Trip’s expressions gives me a glimmer of eagerness that hip hop is salvageable, that there are still people out there doing what they love and at the same time turning the definition of a megagenre on it’s ear.

As the album closing reminds us, hip hop is not just about the music, it’s about a way of life. With his first album, Z-Trip shows us just how happy he is to be alive.

Never be ashamed of your music. Music is art and entertainment, and if it entertains you…then rock out to it like there is no tomorrow. Don’t apologize to anyone for what you listen to, unless of course the volume is too loud. In that case, apologize and turn it up just a little more.

I love this picture. Though yours truly was not in attendance for this formal (note: see previous entry regarding events leading up to said dance), for some reason this photo captures a big point in my high school years.

If it weren’t thanks to a certain friend and his absolutely magnetic personality…I’m fairly confident that I might have gone four years with my nose buried in a book, head wrapped in headphones, and not a female in sight. And while the thought of this is mildly amusing, the sentiment is raw and true. I’m really in awe of how much one person has changed my social life.

It’s no secret to those that know me well…I’m shy. Though I do have an ability to ‘turn on’ and be outgoing, it is unnatural for me. That side of my personality is a stage presence, invoked as a defense mechanism, or at the very least a reluctant hat trick brought out to face adult responsibilities. By birth, I’m pretty darn shy.

Andrew, however, is not shy. And I thank God that by some divine grace I was paired with this kid at the age of 13. Otherwise, your’s truly might have never had some of the best years of his life. And not to mention branching out and meeting people of the female persuasion. Andy was the alpha male, initiating all contacts. Though this went to his head early, I can’t blame him really. He took a bunch of soccer-nerds from an all-male college prep school and made us one step close to being ready for the real world. High school didn’t teach me that. Andy did.

As I look at this picture, I notice one distinct thing (well, besides that guy in the back named Big Pete who I still have no clue who the hell he was): I see a bunch of people in my life that have moved on. Be it by distance or scheduling…so many of my friends…friends that I hold so exceptionally close to my heart, have fallen away. I’ve gone through the requisite periods of mourning their losses. I’ve come to accept this as a natural part of growing older. But the lack of their presence in my life today is still defined by this shadow, this void that I undoubtedly feel inside. I keep my friends close, or at least try.

But of those in this picture, very few do I still have the honor and privelage of saying that they keep in touch with me. Above and beyond (that’s his style) is one Mr. Andrew Jonathan Kruse. He calls when I don’t (though he knows I hate phones). He returns IMs and emails when others don’t. He always makes himself more than available on rare holiday breaks to catch up just like old times. He is one of the single-digit people in my life that still go 130% to be my friend.

And my gratitude for this will probably never be accurately expressed.

Though it may seem odd to praise a friend in such a fashion, stumbling over this picture really brought me a sense of thankfulness for Andy. And these moments in my life are truly rare, so I’m learning to embrace them.

So Andrew, on behalf of Katie and all of my female friends today I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Not only did you introduce me to what it meant to be 16, you lead the way through those awkward years for this naturally shy kid.

Ok, I swear this won’t turn into some Bible-thumping site from now on. Hell, those who know me realize the insanity of that notion.

But the first days of a new papacy are interesting and special. So I had a thought today.

While reading over more stuff about the former Cardinal Ratzinger, I found one strikingly consistent message throughout his life: his direct opposition to moral relativism

This is good.

I’ve always had a problem with relativism (definition). While I am very subjective in my own practicing of faith, quiet and not disturbing anyone, I do feel that there is an all-encompassing goodness that rules humanity. Maybe it’s the one last shred of optimism left in me, but I don’t think that the philosophical idea of “what’s right and wrong” is subjective and only viewable within the context of a culture or society.

So while in his remarks during John Paul IIs funeral, Ratzinger commented on the deceit of man (relativism), all the while US polls (and boy do we love polls) show that over 75% of Americans will likely choose what they think is right, as opposed to what the Church teaches.

If that doesn’t say that the spirit of relativism isn’t alive and well in America, I don’t know what is.

It’s true, I almost never talk about my religion. It’s personal, private and can so easily offend pretty much every other soul on the planet.

However, today, my Church elected a new Pope. Pope Benedict the 16th…formerly Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger of Germany. Head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. In short, someone who I had completely discounted for his so-called labeled “fundamentalism.”

I am now so pleasantly surprised.

Truth be told, I am an old-school Catholic. I like my Sunday services with less guitar and less ‘community.’ I find beauty (and ultimately God) in the ceremony of reverence and presentation. There’s a simple elegance to a traditional Mass that has long been pushed to the curb, especially in America. I never understood why the hand-holding, craft-making, camp song-singing masses of the counterculture revolution had to change a faith that’s been established for over 1900 years.

The pasteurization of my faith came through the 70s, during the cultural shifts (both globally and nationally). The church that I grew up with is all that I know, but I know that I do not like it. I can spot a fraud. And my current church (note the lowercase ‘c’ as denoting the physical church, not Church at large) is a fraud. I’m all for making religion “accessible” to modern day people, but cheapening it is not the way. And in my own, humble opinion, my Catholic faith has been a cheap substitution for as long as I’ve been alive.

John Paul did, as we all have been told over the past several weeks, amazing things for the faith. He brought it out of Rome and into the hands of the people. He was the true pilgrim of the faith. Among many other things, he demystified the position of the Vicar of Christ. But in the process, many people crucified him for not addressing the crumbling faith. I personally think that he knew that that was not his charge…he had other things to attend to (dissolution of Communism, etc).

And is it not fitting that now Benedict XVI is the man in charge of the Doctrine of the Faith? Perhaps now to attend to the rebuilding of the Faith itself, around the world? I also wonder if, since this supposed ‘fundamentalism’ will likely be received with ill acceptance the world over, an actual schism of the faith would occur. American Catholicism vs. Roman Catholicism? I could see it happening. I could also see this papacy being one of Peace…extending peace throughout the world. In a globe torn by religious strife and wars, I could easily see this as Benedict’s papal banner.

I don’t pretend to know anything. I just have my hopes.

I’m not sure who switched on the indie folk filter recently, but there’s been some really incredible music coming out of some pretty obscure places. And frankly, I’m not complaining one bit.

A long time ago, in a galaxy called Toledo (thankfully far, far away), I was steeped rather deeply in alterna-folk music. Owing much to an older sister, I grew into a collection of music simply expressed with guitars and a solid, passionate voice. Oddly enough, I have yet to find my way to Dylan. I guess it could happen in time, though. And though I’ve strayed far from these folk roots recently, the past year has found me re-exploring them like lost memories in a photobox. Ray LaMontagne is a true gem.

Piggy-backing on the ground-up, hermit-with-a-guitar style of Iron & Wine’s Sam Beam, LaMontange releases “Trouble” to continue on a strong year of indie folk rock releases.

Enough is enough. Down to business. This album has it all. Hints of Crosby, Stills & Nash. A dash of Ryan Adams and Elliot Smith. A voice that the media almost always links to Van Morrison (eh, I can kinda see it). A understated guest appearance by Nickel Creek. A little bit of alt-country, a little bit of indie rock. LaMontagne proves with his first major release that he has the song writing skills, the voice and most of all the passion to have a hopefully successful career.

As always, I hate going track by track, so here’s a few notables for all of you gemologists out there:

“Hold You In My Arms” makes me want to be sitting around a camp fire, or bonfire at the beach, or something. Nocturnal, swinging and folksy…simple and sweet. I’m sure this one will end up on people’s mixtapes and compilations.

“Narrow Escape” reminds me of Elliot Smith. Now I’m sad that he’s dead, all over again.

“Forever My Friend” - best cut on the album. The tempo kicks up a notch on this one (let’s not get crazy here, Ray!), for a sweet and honest diddy, sans P. The album’s worth it, at the very least, for this song alone.

“Jolene” introduces a bit of piano, a bit more southern influence, and lets the gentle, weathered texture of Ray’s voice shine. Another heavy-hitter on the album.

These songs are cinematic and engaging enough to be a soundtrack for a new Great Depression (in a strangely good “hardships make you stronger” kinda way). Is it wrong to expect these could be sampled by some PBS documentary on the “working poor” in America? If anything, that should be a testament to the American folk tradition nerve that Ray LaMontagne deeply touches, bleeds, and makes his own.

While not an 6/5 star album…it is without a doubt a very solid debut disc, with no filler (but a few, rare but mildly labored), and a definite must-listen for any alt-country/indie folk fan.

Never be ashamed of your music. Music is art and entertainment, and if it entertains you…then rock out to it like there is no tomorrow. Don’t apologize to anyone for what you listen to, unless of course the volume is too loud. In that case, apologize and turn it up just a little more.

My year is completely made. And to think, we’re only four months in, but I doubt I can top this (wedding doesn’t count, yo).

So a few months ago I decided to spice things up in the office. I was stricken with the Midwest winter doldrums, and needed something to laugh about. I don’t like laughing at other people, and I do have a sense of humor that appreciates spontenaity and randomness. What a perfect marriage, I say.

One Friday I decided that I was going to start an inter-office chain mail, minus the letter, and hope people caught on. My plan was to mail a few small, seemingly pointless and random office items to someone else in another part of the University. For the inaugural send-off I chose a row of staples and a few paper clips. I simply labeled them with a Post-It note that read “Here are the items you requested. Thanks.”

And off it went to an unsuspecting, and what I would (hope) assume would be a confused employee. Secretly I was hoping that they would figure it out and continue it on.

Well life as usual caught up with me, and I got busy and forgot about this. My original plan was to continue it once a week, to spread the hilarious tomfoolery, but alas.

Until today.

A coworker (who was in on the original scheme) comes to me and says “You’re hilarious. You sent [name] some random items again didn’t you?”

“Uh, no,” says I.

“Shut up, c’mon stop playing with me. You know what I’m talking about. I was just in her office ready to pee myself it was so funny!”

I really didn’t know what was going on. I was clueless.

As it turns out, my prank must have lived on. Someone in our department got a blank envelope, inter-office, that simply contained toothpicks and a pair of ice tongs. TOOTHPICKS AND TONGS. My successors have gotten even more creative, apparently employing alliteration to their choices. Genius!

This, to me, is beautiful, simple humor, and has made my month, my week and quite possibly my entire year.

“Huh??? What did you say?”

[wait for it, wait for it]

“Oh, I get it now.”

It’s funny to me how the relationship with the woman that I’m about to spend the rest of my life with is based fairly heavily on poor and/or selective hearing. While this has proved mildly annoying thus far, I have it on good suspicion that the older we grow the better this trait will benefit me.

See, the woman in my life has a problem. Either she doesn’t hear very well (which in all honesty, as simple hearing test could determine) or she doesn’t listen very well (my non-clinical suspicion). All in all, the time it takes her to process and actually *hear* what you’re saying is severely delayed. It’s like talking on the phone over the Internet. But surely no one here is nerdy enough to have done that more than once between 1997 and 2001…

Oddly enough, much of our 6 year relationship has been based around this. I’ve gained much patience in learning to wait for her to really hear what I said. In the early days I would get flustered by her lack of auditory perception, seeing as I’m no more than three feet away when I speak. But now, I just pause and wait for it to catch up with her. Most times it works, but alas a few instances prove that she really did fail to catch what I said. Who knows, maybe I speak too softly.

To illustrate just how integrated this is into our relationship, I present to you the story of our first date:

April 16, 1999. Though we had been friends/incessantly flirting for many months by this point, we decided to make it official and put our big toes in the Ring of Dating. On a double-date with my suite mate Justin and his now wife Lisa, we simply headed out to the Marimont Theaters to catch Life Is Beautiful. I should have known right then that the next six years would, much like the movie, require English subtitles. Aside from the man having cardiac arrest THREE FEET FROM ME, it was a good date. And I taught my suite mate how to properly wash a car windshield, which is an obvious bonus.

Afterwards, we retired to her room, sans roommate. We sat talking for quite a long time, which has always been a cornerstone of our relationship. After awhile, the mood seemed right, and on instinct (read: no planned cheese ball Richard Geare move) I said something to the effect of, “I don’t think I can go another day without kissing you.”

And she looked at me like a deer in headlights. “What did you say?”

After simultaneously picking my jaw off the floor, gonads from my throat and suppressing the urge to vomit, I repeated what I had said, half expecting a slap, half expecting a cold and harsh denial.

“Ha! I thought you had said ‘I don’t think I can ever date you!’”

And thus the next 2190 days were set in perfect motion.

Happy six year anniversary, love. Though I’m eight days early, hopefully by that point you will have both heard and correctly processed what I’ve said.

[note: there is a second half to this story, but that shall be saved for later]

[editor’s note: I’m starting to comment on CDs that I’m listening to. I hate music critics, but hopefully this may spark dialogue or growth in your own collection.]

I’ll admit it, I had no clue who Snow Patrol was before this album. In fact, I would wager to say that they could be TRL darlings based on both their name and their sound. But I wouldn’t know if they were or not, ‘cuz MTV is baaad, and much like doing drugs, I try to stay away from the bad stuff.

“What an interesting album” is my gut instinct. The disc opens with How To Be Dead, a popish, rock song with a tinge of ProTools slickness. But not in a bad way. Most modern “pop/rock” makes me vomit a little in my mouth because of it’s sterile production methods. For some reason, it fits with this sound. I have no clue why, so I won’t pretend to explain it. This sound sets the sonic stage for much of the rest of the disc.

While not overly diverse from track to track, the CD is good background music while working. The aggressive rock ballads (with a slight indie twist) make you tap your foot, to be sure. I would wager to say that this would be a perfect fit for a WB show’s soundtrack…catchy and rocking, but just indie enough to have some street cred left.

The highlight of the disc for me is Graced Knees, for not only is the wall of guitars diminished in size, but lead singer Gary Lightbody’s great voice is able to show off a bit more. His Irish brogue is also more apparent. And let’s face it, who doesn’t like a guy with an Irish brogue? Muy sexy, no?

The piano-laced track, Same and We Can Run Away Now They’re All Dead are much in the same vein…downtempo and more reserved. Notice a pattern here? I think these guys are more effective with less uumph. However, when listening to We Can Run… I couldn’t help but hear the They Might Be Giants song, Why Must I Be Sad? — it’s the exact same chord progressions. Oh well. Still catchy.

Ok, no final grades on discs…but final thoughts are acceptable: I’ll check out their older stuff, before they got a bigger recording budget, to see if they shine more. Stick to a more simple sound, my Irish brothers…

And as I’ll end every CD commentary: Never be ashamed of your music. Music is art and entertainment, and if it entertains you…then rock out to it like there is no tomorrow. Don’t apologize to anyone for what you listen to, unless of course the volume is too loud. In that case, apologize and turn it up just a little more.

Suffice it to say, at least in my humble opinion, that the greatest man of our times passed away this weekend. While we all have been bombarded with non-stop news coverage since last week of the Pope’s failing health, the sentiment is not diminished at all. Over-saturated media be damned.

See, I’m not one for hero worship. I dreaded college applications for their “if you could have dinner with three persons, dead or alive, who would it be?” questions…for I look to not many people for this answer. Pope John Paul II, however, has always held a special place in my heart…and yet I don’t know why.

For the majority of my life, this Pope has been nothing but a title to me. I never really studied him or paid much attention to his world travels as they graced the newspapers or headline news broadcasts. He was just the Pope. Yet somehow, I always felt a strong affinity towards him. I projected the visage of my grandfather on him, though appropriately so. His patient, kind yet incredibly strong demeanor put the two patriarchal figures in my life close together.

Over the past few years though, I’ve begun to read more about this Slavic man…as a poet, a playwright, a linguist, a university professor and as the man who has singlehandedly done more for my religion than anyone in history. For those older generations that think he was too outdated, I fear they miss how much of a media genius he was. I think we all missed how incredibly important he was. I’m slowly starting to realize all of this through my research, but of course it is a day late and a euro short. I would not be surprised if it takes another thirty years for us to even begin to realize what gifts this man bestowed upon us.

My words do nothing to express the loss, despair and hopelessness that I now have. My Church has lost it’s strongest member, it’s greatest visionary and it’s most faithful servant. I can only pray that the next Pope fills at least half of the role that Karol Wojtyla did so faithfully for the past 26 years.

He was the true pilgrim of love, of truth and of hope.

Link: QTVR of the mourners in St. Peter’s Square in Rome