My history with impromptu dance parties -- in my opinion, the best kind -- goes back to Olympia, Wash. Usually, there was only one turntable and a small stack of records courtesy of whoever lived in the house or apartment. The time it took for the DJ (and I use this term in the loosest sense) to take one record off and put another one on was when we all took a moment to catch our breaths. Hardly anyone populated the edges of the floor; you were sucked into the movement by force, even if dancing meant merely flailing about or continuing your conversation. Everything occurred in the center. We danced to garage, mod and punk -- it was all about the guitar buzz and the foot-stomp, our form reckless and amateur. The two songs I recall boosting the collective enthusiasm were The Who's "My Generation" and "London Calling" by The Clash.

One specific dance party I remember occurred after my band played a show in Syracuse, N.Y. In a rare moment of willingness, we followed some students to a house party. There, we sipped cheap alcohol in plastic cups (fill a cup with vodka, add just enough soda to turn it brown), raided cheese plates, and sat on carpeted stairs -- the kind where you make a mental note to wash whatever pants you're wearing later. I don't know if anything was playing on the stereo; perhaps it was one of those mid-'90s small-town indie bands whose music you could knock over with a feather. Just when we were on the verge of leaving, my bandmate Janet found the record shelves, grabbed the first B-52's album and put on "Rock Lobster." Within seconds, the party shifted from awkward clusters to bold comets -- strange how noise can transmogrify a room.

Recently, a friend called me and said that some of our cohorts might be taking over a bar for the night, and that we'd take turns playing records. I immediately started going through stacks of 45s. With only my dogs in the room, I'd put on a record and try to gauge whether the song was danceable. Was the song's effect immediate enough? Was the intro too long? Was it too fast or slow? Did it have an unwieldy breakdown that would confound? I pulled out all of my soul, R&B and blues records first. But I also wanted to throw in some '80s and garage tunes. Then I wondered if consistency of genre was important. Worst of all, what song might become the dreaded Zamboni? You know, the one that clears the floor.

I'm not a DJ, so most of my dance-music experience has been as a participant. I'll dance to almost anything as long as I'm not the only one on the floor. I'll stop dancing if the song is too cheesy, too fast or just one that I can't stand. Company B's "Fascinated"? Sure. UB40's "Red Red Wine"? No thanks.

So, what are some of your favorite dance-party moments? What songs get you onto the floor? Conversely, what song will make you leave?

Rein in my love affair with Facebook. Yes, we're still in the honeymoon phase, but I'd rather do the preemptive break-up than end up hurt and rejected. A few months ago, Facebook membership among my friends reached a Gladwellian tipping point. A lot of people who would theretofore never have considered joining a social-networking site caved in, shed their mistrust of visibility and nostalgia, and embraced the concept wholeheartedly. For the two Monitor Mix readers who are not on Facebook, think of it like this: Do you ever wonder what the guy you sat next to in high-school math class is doing? Right now? Well, Facebook answers that question. He is doing his laundry. Yes, it's that exciting. My highest Facebook achievement to date entails a mobile photo upload of a Gresham police officer issuing me a speeding ticket. But I actually do love the site for making sense of all of the disparate groups of friends I have around the world, gathering them in a single virtual sphere, and making my relationship with them present instead of past-tense. Facebook has also become a repository for our old photos -- the pre-digital ones -- creating a fluid historical space, linking one music scene to another, charting one decade's transformation into the next, illuminating a generation of citizens' effect on their predecessors, and acting as a simultaneous artifact and living museum. So, for the most part, Facebook has been a positive, sometimes exciting enterprise. Yet over the holidays, I found myself discussing Facebook at parties, which gave me pause. Here I was, in person with my friends, talking about our virtual friendship. Then, another friend of mine sent me a note that read, "Wow, you are taking this Facebook thing seriously." My skepticism was reborn.

Avoid free shows and spend money on worthy bands. The other night, I saw a Swedish performer called The Tallest Man On Earth perform for free at Rom Tom's. After reading a glowing preview of the show in our local weekly, I decided to be spontaneous and head out for the night. I was shocked to pull up to the bar and see a line around the block -- SXSW- or CMJ-style. Apparently, Portlanders will attend anything that allows them to spend more money on alcohol by spending less on art. And that is a shame, because the self-proclaimed Swedish Dylan was a highly contrived act with a huge audience. So in 2009, I want to seek out more live music -- and not just when it's free or easy or convenient, but when it's likely to be both inspiring and edifying.

Additionally: Be patient, read and write more, drink less soda pop, continue to volunteer, and be appreciative of what I have.

Please feel free to share your own resolutions for 2009.

And, lastly, thanks for being a part of Monitor Mix.
Happy New Year.

For a few days, most of us were stuck indoors with only foot power to rely on. Then, once adult vs. child sledding lost its luster and the novelty of cross-country skiing in our yards went from cool to embarrassing ("Need anything at Trader Joe's?" I was asked, more than once), Portlanders braved the streets in their cars and said to hell with cabin fever. Eight rental DVDs later, the low point being House Bunny, I too was on the road.

Now, thankfully, we have put this local tragedy behind us. All we're left with is rain in the forecast -- no one here is stupid enough to complain about this yet, but give it a few days -- and dirty, slushy snow. Imagine living inside a week-old Coke Slurpee, and you get the idea.

I should add that the new Bon Iver Blood Bank EP was the perfect soundtrack to the snow. A less welcome guest arrived in the form of an email from a publicist with this asinine information:

Even celebrities are being hit hard by the current economic crisis. Hollywood.com asked the stars how they plan on getting creative during a Recession Christmas and this is what they told us: Kate Hudson: "It's a really weird time, and everyone is feeling it. This year I'm doing these great big knitted gifts." Jim Carrey: "I'm bailing out the economy. No one's getting anything. Isn't that enough, to bail out the economy?" Gabrielle Union: "I told my family, I said, 'Look, I'm a black actress in a bad economic time. You're getting my love."

I sincerely hope that the stars had a Merry Christmas, and the same goes for you.

But now we must look to 2009, and to the pressure of New Year's Eve. Let's all do something that both encapsulates the previous year and thrusts us into the new one with providence. No pressure. Personally, I begin planning with friends about a week in advance, discussing big, lofty ideas: dance or dinner parties, shows, etc. By the 31st, however, I'm exhausted from the pressure and end up home at 12:02 a.m., if I go out at all. So, what are your plans?

Someone pointed out that 2009 is the year of Monitor Mix. In roman numerals, MMIX = 2009. Indeed it does. With that in mind, my next post will discuss New Year's Resolutions. But for now, I'll leave you with words from a Portland bumper sticker that I saw yesterday: If you lived in your heart, you'd be home now.

What a horrible way to end a post, with you stuck inside your chest cavity. Sorry.

Television has "jumping the shark" as the term for a show that has lost its way. Film fans and critics mention disasters such as Heaven's Gate or Waterworld, but what expression or point of reference does the music industry have for the misguided or profligate artist?

Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music immediately comes to mind as on example. And up until its release this year, certainly Guns N' Roses' Chinese Democracy was the metonym for artistic stumbling, self-doubt, extravagance, and abject failure. Curiously, now that the album is available, Chinese Democracy's metaphorical potency has greatly diminished, though I have a feeling it will become a term used to describe similar journeys or missteps. (Whether there will ever be another misstep so drawn out and expensive is another question entirely.)

Yet one reason that Chinese Democracy might not be the best example, and why it might be disqualified as music's equivalent of "jumping the shark," is that the album was not released during GNR's heyday. Part of the reason Heaven's Gate and Waterworld were so symbolically disastrous was that they occurred during the heights of director Michael Cimino's and actor Kevin Costner's respective careers. In other words, Chinese Democracy stands in for a musical story with which we were intrigued up until we knew the ending (ultimately, a disappointment), but it still doesn't represent a major faltering in the midst of a career. So, what does? And what musical mistake was so balls out treacherous as to forever become the measuring stick for balls out treacherousness?

And I'm not talking about Dylan going electric. I'm talking about errors and gaffes that even with time don't reveal themselves to be secretly brilliant.

For instance, what about U2's Pop album and the consequent Popmart tour? Garth Brooks' alter ego Chris Gaines? Kiss without the make-up? Springteen's "57 Channels (And Nothing's On)?

Or, perhaps music fans are more forgiving. The medium allows, even exalts, transformations. After all, we revel in declaring the death of one musical genre or artist only to stage a resurrection later (then pat ourselves on the back for never having lost the faith.) Maybe music doesn't have a "jump the shark" parity because it requires those acts of daring. And as long as the artist come back on the next album or tour with redemption at their side, all is forgiven.

So, even if we can't find an exact matching term for what constitutes a musical embarrassment, let's at least try. Feel free to share music moments or albums so off base that you think they could or should become an expression that embodies everything similar that follows in their wake.

Usually, when I think about Christmas music, I think of the day after Halloween, when certain retail stores start piping the merriment through tiny, tinny speakers. I look down and my hand has formed a fist, and after a few minutes, I can taste the enamel in my mouth from all the teeth grinding. No wonder I haven't been grocery-shopping in weeks. Basically, from Nov. 1 until Dec. 26, I wear my night guard and wake up on a drool-soaked pillow thanks to lyrics like, "City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style" and "Fa la la la la la LA LA la." No, I'm not Scrooge; I just know we can do better in terms of Christmas music. And we have.

Below are some of my favorite holiday tunes.

Wham!, "Last Christmas." For those of you too young to remember, there was a time when George Michael (and even Andrew Ridgeley) were talented, sexy and straight. Sure, I had a picture of them on my bedroom wall from Bop magazine where they are giving each other piggyback rides on a beach, but that just meant they were best friends. It also meant that I would get to date one of them, and my best friend would date the other. I still love this song.

Madonna, "Santa Baby." Okay, this is not one of my favorite Christmas songs, but it makes all of the other ones in this post sound better. When I was a pre-teen, my mother actually had to console me over the fact that I would likely never meet Madonna.

Ramones, "Merry Christmas Baby (I Don't Want To Fight Tonight)." One of my all-time favorites. As far as I'm concerned, the Ramones had very few missteps. Plus, this song carries a profound double-meaning that speaks to wishing for peace in places far outside our own domestic domain.

David Bowie and Bing Crosby, "Little Drummer Boy." The interaction between Bowie and Crosby in the first few minutes of this video is almost as good as the song itself. I think this might constitute one of the best duets of all time. Bowie looks incredibly handsome.

Bob Geldof, "Feed the World." The best part of this video trying to identify all the superstars in it. For some of these artists, this song might be the last great thing they ever did. (And certainly the best they ever looked. Sting and Phil Collins, I'm talking to you.) Paul Weller looks like a supermodel, Bono reminds you why U2 is still head and shoulders above most bands, and Boy George had yet to break the law. Most of all, the melody is fantastic.

Feel free to add your own favorites (or least favorites).

For more info, go here.

I think if I had to pick a theme this year, it would be "teenage." The adjective might sound derogatory at first, but there's something really exciting about letting go of the self-consciousness that comes with maturity and wisdom. Not that the best songs of 2008 weren't intelligent, or that they were all made by youngsters; it's just that they weren't overly considered or contrived. And "teenage" differs from "puerile." The songs I loved weren't immature so much as immune -- inoculated from fear. Maybe this is what happens when you record in your bedroom, or you stop caring about record sales because you can never take for granted any sales at all -- but a lot of the best songs just sat there exposed, as if out on an unsteady limb.

I started off the year with an almost adolescent adoration for Ladyhawk. The band's song "S.T.H.D." remains one of my favorites from 2008. Sure, the tune conjures Sugar and Silkworm and maybe a little Screaming Trees, but it's its own force that never loses an ounce of potency. The guitar interludes come in more like scratches than solos -- which is exactly the sound you want from the Pacific Northwest.

[Listen to the track S.T.H.D from Shots]

Deerhunter, "Nothing Ever Happened." I love lopsided songs. Riff-based, almost poppy at the beginning, noisy at the end, never to return to the familiarity with which it began. The momentum in this song is not just a ride; it's an awakening.

Chad Van Gaalen, "Inside the Molecules." The first verse comes back again; a structural choice, certainly, but perhaps also a means of convincing the narrator (and thus the listener) that the song's happiness isn't fleeting.

Tapes N' Tapes, "Time of Songs." A simple song built upon a resplendent melody. By the time you near the end of the song, you realize the whole tune has been a weight that's been slowly lowered down on top of you. It always leaves me with a feeling of subtle devastation.

No Age, "Here Should Be My Home." It starts out all excited and never lets up. Sometimes an exclamation point is all you need.

Kanye West, "Love Lockdown." It's all about the snare drum in this one, used as a rudimentary but no less effective weapon.

Santogold, "Lights Out." Infectious without ever being saccharine. There's an edginess to the words that makes the whole song a little sly.

Blitzen Trapper, "Gold for Bread." I'll excuse the cleverness of the lyrics because I keep singing along.

And I'd be remiss not to mention Bon Iver. I've written about Justin Vernon on this blog before, and if I keep that up, well, it might just be awkward.

I assume, reader, that you know the answer to this query, but what about the Twilight fans? And will they care?

If biopics are going to vacillate from better-known figures, like Harvey Milk and Ray Charles, to more underground legends -- the lives of Ian Curtis and Darby Crash have already been explored -- then what other obscure stories and careers can we unearth? More importantly, what Hollywood stars will play them?

Below are some videos of not just The Runaways (I mean, who will play Cherie Currie and Lita Ford? Juliette Lewis? Or that girl from The Hills?), but also footage of other female-fronted bands of yore. You could waste a good hour trying to decide on an actress to play Lene Lovich. Catherine Zeta-Jones? Maggie Gyllenhaal?

If you have a moment, please weigh in with your actress choices, for the bands below or any other relatively obscure band who just might be coming soon to a theater near you.

The Runaways:

The Runaways:

Girlschool:

Fuzzbox:

Au Pairs:

Dolly Mixture:

Lene Lovich:

It happens to be music related.

Another Oprah suggestion is a swap party (again, not what you're thinking), wherein moms get together and trade their kids' unwanted clothing and toys. This all sounds perfectly reasonable and well-intentioned, as long as your children don't mind going to school wearing their friends' cast-offs. And parents should make sure to tell their children, "Don't say anything if you see Jimmy wearing that leather teal coat your aunt gave you that you never wore."

Not to toot my own horn, but I do want to mention that my list from last year (in which I swore never to mention Oprah on this blog again -- whoops!) suggested that Q-Tips and pizza make fantastic offerings. Apparently, I was prescient in my attempt at parsimony.

So, whereas Oprah might save you a bit of money this holiday season, I am certain that I can save you even more. Here's how:

Water. On Christmas morning, pour everyone a glass of water. If you thought it was difficult to give a gift that's green, healthy and inexpensive, think again.

"Merry Christmas -- Love, Carrie" tattoo. Nothing says "forever" like a tattoo. And, let's face it, Christmas is forever. Christmas is more certain than your marriage, or life itself. Isn't that strangely reassuring? It is for me, too. Get your family inked this year; it'll be the last gift you'll ever buy them. Next Christmas, and for years to come, it's just a matter of lifting your mom's shirt to remind her of the gift she now sports on her lower back. (Your gift, of course, will use your own name, not mine.)

Coupons. Remember when you were a child, and you couldn't afford to buy your parents anything on their birthdays or at the holidays because you didn't earn any money? Well, it's like that again. In grade school, your teachers would have you make homemade coupon books that your parents could redeem for chores -- or, even better, for quality time. "To Dad. This coupon is good for two hours of us chopping firewood together." This holiday season, resurrect the coupons, but raise the value; you're an adult now. Spending two hours with your family? That's hardly a gift for them. Don't be selfish. Give your parents coupons that are good for weeks or months of quality time. "Dear Dad, with this coupon I'll move back into my childhood room, and we'll spend hours together finding me a job on Craigslist."

Coin Jar. If you have any money at all, why turn that into something else? For every book or DVD you give out, the recipient will only think, "That's $24.95 I could have put toward my heating bill." Think you don't have money to give? You do. It's sitting in some handspun dish you inherited from a grandparent or a dorm room. Put a bow on that piece of pottery. If you end up giving away the backs of earrings for which there are no earrings, safety pins, lint and extra buttons in the process, do not despair. That's just a bigger bounty.

Happy Holidays!

CBGB's sticker-encrusted urinal is already museum-worthy, and on Monday more detritus from the era of the Ramones and the Clash hurtled its way into high culture, when Christie's hosted its first auction devoted to punk memorabilia. Vivienne Westwood bondage pants, photographs of Lou Reed and Blondie, badges for the Buzzcocks and concert fliers from clubs like Max's Kansas City went up for bid at the decidedly nonpunk hour of 10 a.m. Estimates were as high as $1,500 for an original "God Save the Queen" Sex Pistols T-shirt and $7,000 for an autographed Ramones test album from 1976. "We've sold punk material before -- a T-shirt here, a poster there," said Simeon Lipman, the head of Christie's pop culture department, at a preview the day before the sale. "This time around I wanted to explore the punk aesthetic. I love the music, and the memorabilia itself is very, very scarce. It has such a wonderful look to it. It's very visceral."

I know what you're thinking--here comes a post about the death (like the third or fourth death) of punk, the commodification of art, and the conflation of music and commerce. Wrong. Okay, I admit, I thought about that angle, but let this post be an exercise in restraint, in devil's advocacy, and in folly.

After all, what is it about the marriage of Christie's and Punk that is so threatening? Perhaps if we could afford to crystallize our youth by means of memorabilia--and not just our own, but iconic, codified images associated with a certain musical era--than the notion of buying back our past wouldn't seem so crass, or odd. I mean, on our own, as music fans of mostly modest means, we've tried to cobble together our own shrines and mini-museums. From ticket stubs to posters torn off telephone polls, from concert t-shirt well past their prime to a pen mark on a ticket stub that may or may not be an autograph, to photos depicting the back of the crowd but also, somewhere in the frame, the neck of a guitar and the arm of the musician you adore. And we've never doubted these keepsakes; we are claiming only what is ours: memories, and a sense of having put our feet down in the right place at the right time, for once.

But what if these possessions could be grander? Appreciated by more than a few old college friends and a mercifully understanding boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse who doesn't ask us to throw them out in the next move. As fans, we elevate music to the highest echelons; we obsess over it, breathe it and live it, why shouldn't we memorialize in a way befitting of our worship?

Thus, if my musical fandom could be expressed professionally, curatorially, and monetarily--well, then here is my wish list (for starters):

Patti Smith's outfit from the Horses album cover
Ricky Wilson (B-52's) guitar from the "Legal Tender" video
A Pete Townshend jumpsuit
A beer bottle thrown but not entirely destroyed by a member of the Replacements
Bo Diddley's guitar from cover of Bo Diddley is a Gunslinger album cover
Kim Gordon's broken high heel from the 'This Ain't No Picnic' festival

Feel free to add your own wish list.

Echo & The Bunnymen. One of my favorites. In this live version of the song, the bass is too loud and the whole thing sounds like a British version of The Sonics' "Strychnine."

Linda Ronstadt should be more influential than she is -- either that, or not enough folks are 'fessing up to it.

Agent Orange. One of the first songs I ever learned to play on guitar.

Neu! Everyone should listen to this song at least once a year.

Nazz. Todd Rundgren. So young, so cute.

Also, for those who are interested, I wrote a piece about Wii Music for Slate the other day. You can read it here.

We did, however, manage to start the process. In the summer of 2000, we recorded four songs in a couple of hours, the same amount of time in which we'd written them a few months earlier. If nothing else, making these songs available now is The Spells' way of finally acknowledging that we aren't going to get around to finishing the album.

We're streaming four previously unreleased songs and making two of them available as free downloads. (They'll be available for two weeks.)

Recently, I chatted with Mary about the project:

Carrie Brownstein: What was the year 2000 like?

Mary Timony: Here are the first things that come to mind about the year 2000:

1. When we recorded these songs, it was right before the Gore/Bush election. I think we recorded them in August and Bush was elected a few months later.
2. A random memory about 2000 I have is the whole Y2K thing. You were supposed to buy a bunch of gallons of water and canned provisions in case all the computers shut down and the s--- hit the fan. I remember not doing any of this stuff, but I had a friend who drove out to the country just in case. In case of what, I'm not sure, but then nothing happened.
3. I think 2000 is when I started being aware of electroclash. I'm not sure why I think this is important, but maybe it's because, looking back on it, it was music that felt unrelated to the indie-rock of the '90s that I felt like I came from, and was a part of. It felt like new things were replacing it. What do you remember about the year 2000?

CB: It was my last full year in Olympia, though I didn't know it then. And, honestly, the first thing I think of when I see the year 2000 is that it's the year before Sept. 11. There was this crazy festival called Ladyfest that happened right before we recorded these songs, which was why you were already in town. I remember feeling hung over from the week, though not literally -- just exhausted from Olympia being so swollen with people. What were your impressions of Olympia?

MT: Well, I remember visiting Olympia from cold, crowded, expensive Boston. It felt like I was coming to some kind of utopian land; it was small and beautiful, everyone was friendly, there was really cool/hip music happening... What was going on in Olympia at this point for you, Carrie?

CB: I think I was touring a lot during that time, so Olympia was partly an escape for me, as well. I had a really great house there with a huge yard, almost an acre. I spent most of the summer reading and hanging out on a hammock under a triad of maple trees. It was rare for me to be home during the warm months, so I always tried to make the most of it.

MT: I remember we recorded these songs right after a Sleater-Kinney tour in Europe -- and then playing the Original Ladyfest in Olympia, right?

CB: Exactly. Our bands had just toured Europe together for the second time. I recall that we wrote the songs in your apartment in Jamaica Plain. I think I came up from D.C. to visit you after I finished a tour. How was writing for The Spells different from writing for your solo material?

MT: I think writing for The Spells was different from doing solo stuff, because it was collaborative with you, and totally fun, and seemed to be like a natural extension of our friendship. Also, it was interesting, because as I remember it, I think we wrote and recorded these songs in less than a week. Is that right? How was writing for The Spells different from writing for S-K?

CB: I think we wrote them over the span of two days in Boston and recorded them in the same amount of time in Olympia. Writing with you was not totally dissimilar from writing with S-K, but you have such a different playing style, so it was challenging, but really great. I liked how freeing the experience was -- songs just sort of ended, or drifted off into a new part, never to return. And in spite of all the weirdness, the songs still had a stubborn poppiness to them. I also remember us being really obsessive about our guitar parts; both of us are playing lead melodies nearly the entire time. Have you thought much about these recordings in the eight years since we made them?

MT: I've always liked the songs a lot, and wanted to release them, but wasn't sure if we would since we only had four, and that's not enough for a traditional EP or record. What about you? Did you forget that we had these songs?

CB: I didn't forget about them at all. Every few years, I would take out the CD I had of the songs and listen to it for a few days straight. It felt like a secret. Not too many people knew we had recorded anything other than our first EP. I remember we kept thinking we'd eventually record more and put out a full-length. I don't even know if all of these songs would have made it on there. What is the main reason for you wanting to release these songs?

MT: I'm just glad we have the opportunity to do it, I guess. I don't know. What about you, Carrie? What do you think is your main reason for wanting to release them?

CB: It bothers me too much not to. Like a dog that needs to go out on a walk and you just keep putting it off. They need fresh air. A shorter answer would just be, why not?

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"Bat Vs. Bird":

Download "Bat Vs. Bird" (PC users right-click, Mac users control-click and save/download to your computer)

"Viola":

"Champion Vampire":

"Antarctica":

Download "Antarctica" (PC users right-click, Mac users control-click and save/download to your computer)

Bat Vs. Bird credits:

Recorded by Justin Trosper at MagRecOne. Olympia, WA. August 2000.
Rachel Carns played drums.
Artwork by Curtis Pachunka.
Special thanks to Christina Files.