I wasn’t exactly an early adopter of smart phones. Jennifer and I purchased our first cell phones in 2006, after nearly all of our friends and family members had their own. And though she “upgraded” to a smart phone several years ago, I held off until last year.

This spring, I finally availed myself of one of the benefits of a smart phone: having all my music in a portable format. Well, not all my music. Not everything fits. So, at first, I just dropped in a bunch of my favorite songs. Only a few hundred songs.

But then, as I listened to scattered songs from album fragments, I decided I wanted to have complete albums. There are some great songs out there yet, I realized, I had never listened to the album they are from. Maybe the rest of the album is also great. Maybe not.

So I deleted everything from my iPhone, and then began by dropping in the complete albums that I already knew and loved (about 20 albums). There were several cases where I had four, five, or even six tracks from an album on my phone, and this compelled me to drop in the other tracks. This brought my total to over 50 albums. Then there were some albums I didn’t own in their entirety, but I wanted to. So I got those. (How I got those is another story entirely.) This brought my total to over 70 albums. Then I went back and filled in the space I had left with truly one-off songs that didn’t belong to any album, or, at least, not any album I wanted. Some of these were live tracks. Others were from albums I had listened to in the past and didn’t think I ‘d really want to hear again.

Then, of course, since I’m obsessive, I had to make sure all the tracks were perfect. I mean perfect. I made sure I had the correct album cover artwork for every song, the year each song was originally released, and the correct track number for each song. Of course, I also ensured every song title, album title, and artist name was correct and consistent. A lot of the songs I own were listed as being from “So-and-so’s Greatest Hits,” which isn’t exactly true since the song usually appeared on a studio album previously, so I corrected those to indicate the original album they were from. All bands that begin with “The” have “The” at the beginning, while all individuals are last name then first name. I even had to figure out how to get songs, albums, and artists with numerical names to appear first, instead of last, like iTunes and iPhones stupidly do (hint: you have to cheat).

So now I have 1,186 songs on my phone, which would take me three days, 1 hour, 4 minutes, and 12 seconds to listen to. There are 88 music acts in my phone, but several only have one or two songs. Music acts with complete albums on my phone are as follows (the number indicates how many complete albums I have from each artist):

311 (1)
The Beatles (5 – although this includes Sgt. Pepper’s, and I left off the song “Within You Without You,” which I can barely tolerate)
Johnny Cash (1)
Creedence Clearwater Revival (2 – well, this includes Cosmo’s Factory, and I left off the 15-minute song “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” which, I’m sorry, is just too long)
Green Day (1)
Green Tea (1)
George Harrison (1)
Mason Jennings (11)
Billy Joel (6)
Jack Johnson (2)
The Lavone (1)
John Lennon (5 – well, this includes both Double Fantasy and Milk and Honey, two albums that are half Lennon and half Yoko Ono songs. I only included Lennon’s)
Pink Floyd (2)
Simon & Garfunkel (5)
Paul Simon (10)
Bruce Springsteen (1)
Rhett Sutter (2)
Ryan Sutter (2 – well, this includes an EP, which is a very short album, and it excludes the 10-minute outro from Songs of Bo Redoubt, which just has too much empty space to justify the space it uses on my phone)
The Traveling Wilburys (2)
Trumpet Marine (1)
U2 (10)
Brian Wilson (1)

My phone also has every song from The Beatles’ 1967-1970, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Chronicle (again, with one exception), Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s Déjà Vu, Genesis’ Turn It On Again, Buddy Holly’s 20 Golden Greats, Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits, Volume I and II (except for the atrocious “Say Goodbye to Hollywood” and “While the Night is Still Young”), The John Lennon Collection, Bob Marley’s Legend, Queen’s Greatest Hits, Volume I, and The Paul Simon Anthology, but all of those are compilation albums, so I’m not counting them.

My phone also has 18 songs from  Pearl Jam, 17 from Peter Gabriel, 8 from Roy Orbison, and 6 each from Counting Crows and XTC, but, alas, no complete albums – not even greatest hits albums.

There are more songs from Paul Simon on my phone than from anyone else, at least if you count his stuff with Garfunkel, too, for a total of 171 songs (114 solo, 57 with Garfunkel). John Lennon is a close second with 108 songs from the Beatles and 54 as a soloist, for a total of 162 songs. If I don’t count work from multiple iterations, then U2 is first with 131 songs, and Mason Jennings takes the cake in the soloist department with 120 songs.

So now that everything on my phone is in order, I’ve decided to listen to it all once through. The most logical way is alphabetically by song title, as that spices it up far more than chronologically, or by album or artist title, even though it does make for some odd cuts sometimes.

My experience kicked off this past weekend, with the very sluggish “4th of July,” by U2, which only makes it onto my phone by virtue of me wanting to having the entire Unforgettable Fire album. But then I was pleasantly surprised to hear The Traveling Wilbury’s “7 Deadly Sins,” which I don’t think I’d heard since I was a teenager. Glad I rediscovered that song.

As of this writing, I’m on the letter A. My progress is slowed because I don’t have an easy way to listen in my car. But I’ll update this when I close out with U2, who, coincidentally, are also the last music act in my list, with “Zooropa.”

With over 99% of the decade behind us (my decade started in 2000, not 2001), I thought I’d take the time to do a few “best of” lists. Since school’s done for the semester, I hope to put these lists up pretty quick. I’m gonna start with my favorite albums. I will follow this up with a list of TV shows, motion pictures, and novels, but I’ll begin with the least-defensible list. I’d love to hear what your favorites are, too. For the purposes of this list, the albums must have a release date of January 1, 2000 or later.

10. I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning (Bright Eyes, 2005)
I first listened to this album when a co-worker said, “Here, you might like this.” And I did.

9. Brainwashed (George Harrison, 2001)
Here’s someone who, I swear, never made a bad album. This was his final one, and it’s just as good as his previous albums. I guess there’s nothing on this album that totally blew me away, but each song, taken in and of itself, left me thinking, “that was a good song.”

8. Drunken Lullabies (Flogging Molly, 2002)
This is like rock and roll meets the Renaissance Festival. I have three Flogging Molly albums, and they’re all pretty much the same (so I don’t think I’ll be getting more); but this one’s the best of the bunch. Probably best listened to in an Irish pub following a soocer game. Just a hunch.

7. Don’t Tread on Me (311, 2006)
A fun band that, finally, appeared to have disposed of the rap. This album just seemed to come out at the right time for me. I listened to it in my car rides to and from work in ’05, and it made the car rides quicker. Maybe ’cause I was speeding.

6. Use Your Voice (Mason Jennings, 2004)
I didn’t even know Mason Jennings existed until a year before this album was released, but he’s gotta be my favorite musician of the decade. This is an enjoyable mix of solemn tunes and outright fun ditties. I could probably sing this album from cover-to-cover (does that even make sense?).

5. Surprise (Paul Simon, 2006)
Okay, so I liked You’re the One, Paul’s 2001 effort, but it was kind of slow. I kept wondering if he even bothered to get out of bed to record the thing. I don’t know if he did, but he made up for it with Surprise, for my money, his best album since Graceland. Amazing songs in a rich, sonic landscape (yeah, that’s what the liner notes call it) with, as should be expected from Paul, extremely infectious lines.

4. Songs of Bo ReDoubt (Ryan Sutter, 2006)
I always had this idealized dream of the kind of music my friends could make if all the pieces ever fell together just right, and I think this album is it. When I first heard “Hue & Cry” I thought: “Wow, he actually did it – this is a one of those songs that’s actaully gonna be stuck in my head now!” I really liked it and I kept playing it. In fact, I just checked, and it’s the most played song on my iTunes (and, no, there’s not just 10 songs on there). Oh – the rest of the album is great, too. An eclectic mix harking back to Ryan’s early, weird stuff, plus some great tunes on a variety of deep topics. (Download the album for free at the link provided.)

3. All That You Can’t Leave Behind (U2, 2000)
After waiting nearly a decade for some actual songs from U2 (as opposed to just experiments with electrical equipment), I was quite pleased when I first heard “Beautiful Day” on the radio for the first time, and I immediately went out and bought the album. Though the lead-off track is a great song, there are three or four on the album that are even better. Though the album kind of tapers off at the end, with more of a whimper than a satisfying denouement, it’s still a great album. Too bad they’ve been asleep at the wheel ever since.

2. Century Spring (Mason Jennings, 2002)
See? I told you I liked Mason Jennings. I don’t think I dislike anything he’s ever done, and this album is the cream of the crop. “Sorry Signs on Cash Machines,” “Forgiveness,” “Bullet,” and the title track are all among my favorite songs. This is one strong album.

1. Smile (Brian Wilson, 2004)
I initially listened to this as a favor to a friend, but within the first two minutes, I was hooked. This is pretty much what an album should be – a cohesive, coordinated, concept. It’s not quite pop and it’s not quite avant-garde; it’s whole is better than any genre. It’s – as one of my co-workers titled it – the Dark Side of the Beach Boys. “Mrs. Oleary’s Cow,” incidentally, is my favorite track on the album. It manages to excitedly tell the whole story of Chicago’s Great Fire…without saying a word. One of the critics at the link provided above said: “…quite simply the greatest triumph in the history of pop music.” I whole-heartedly concur. Smile made me smile. It’s Brilliant. Just brilliant.

As I seem to be too busy these days to formulate a thorough review of recent reads, I hereby opine on these books in a supremely low-quality form of verse. If it seems like there’s an unusual preponderance of books on American History, it’s because I’ve had to read them for my current class:

Into Temptation, the new film written and directed by Patrick Coyle, takes its viewers on a trip through guilt, sin, and redemption. The film explores the causes and effects in a person’s life that lead, ultimately, to desperate decisions.

     If it sounds like heavy subject matter, it is. But the film manages to not get bogged down in pity for its characters, though it relies heavily on religious motivations and traditions. Those who have never been Catholic, and particularly those who have never been religious, may find it difficult to sympathize with Linda’s desire for absolution.

     Linda, played by Kristin Chenoweth (better known as Olive from Pushing Daisies) is a prostitute seeking to get all her affairs – excuse the pun, please – in order before she ends her existence. Though her actions belie it – it’s been 19 years since her last confession – she’s apparently never mentally left the Catholic Church, and she looks for solace by visiting a confessional booth just as the priest is hoping to end his shift.

     The tale of her life, frustratingly excised from the scene, coupled with his impending need to perform mass, leave the priest at a loss for words – so much, in fact, that he neglects his duty to the wayward soul. Linda leaves, without being forgiven, and Father Buerlein (played by Jeremy Sisto) spends the rest of the film searching out this fallen Catholic.

     Buerlein’s search is a maddening race against the clock. He knows only Linda’s birthday (she intends to take her life on her birthday) and the sound of her voice. He tries to sketch her appearance, but seeing her only obliquely through the screen of a confessional booth, he knows only the shape of her mouth, her neck, and her chest (donned, appropriately, with a cross nestled in a plunging neckline). Buerlein seeks out the assistance of neighbors, taxicab drivers, bartenders, and fellow priest Father O’Brien, played by Brian Baumgartner (better known as Kevin from the Office), whose cynicism and greed paint a striking juxtaposition between the two religious leaders. In time, Buerlein has no other choice but to go literally into temptation, and our hapless hero soon finds himself hobnobbing with pimps, prostitutes, and criminals as he visits night clubs, adult stores, and seedy back alleys.

     Again, for non-believers, the characters challenges may seem a little trite and his difficulties unfounded. But without the limitations and structure imposed by his religion, the film would have little to go on. As it is, Buerlein openly expresses his own doubts and his unease with the rigidity; in one scene, he tells a parishioner he isn’t sure if prayer even works. In another, appalls his congregation by using unsavory words. “Let’s say a prayer for the bastard who mugged me,” he says from the pulpit.

     Into Temptation transpires in Minneapolis, and it offers many scenes and shots of places familiar to Twin Cities residents. The film is beautifully bookended with flashbacks to Linda’s childhood, both of which shed light on the story that unfolds in between. Apart from a pointless subplot featuring the return of Buerlein’s former lover, the story is tight and the pacing adequate. Go see this film before it leaves the few theaters it’s in.

Bottom Line: B

As the 1990s began, I realized I was reading LOTS of books. I was probably averaging about one book a week. But I noticed something: I was only reading non-fiction. In fact, the only fiction I had read up to that time (excluding children’s book, such as Dr. Seuss) were the novels that had been read to me in class, such as Charlotte’s Web and The Secret of NIMH. Well-meaning friends and relatives, mistakenly assuming I liked fiction, purchased novels for me, and they sat on my shelves for years…until I finally dumped them off at the Goodwill. In fact, of the 50 or so novels that people bought for me when I was a kid, the only one I ever took it upon myself to read was Stuart Little. Authored by the same man who wrote Charlotte’s Web, I figured it must be good.

So, in 1990, I decided that if I was to consider myself literate, I would need to start incorporating fiction into my reading diet. I set up a plan wherein I would read one novel every month beginning in September 1990. I wanted to make sure I read modern classics – works of fiction that had become timeless treasures in our libraries.

I pretty much had no idea where to begin. I looked at a list of “great” books that I found posted on a library wall. I hadn’t heard of any of them, so I wondered how great they truly were. Then, in a flash of brilliance, I decided to cull from that rocking list of historical events from the past half century: Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

I’m sure you recall that insightful line where Joel poetically intones: “Rosenburgs H-bomb Sugar Ray Panmunjon Brando the King and I and the Catcher in the Rye.”

So, in early September 1990 – the same day I began 10^th grade – I likewise began my journey into the world of great literature.

And I was underwhelmed.

It’s not, mind you, that I hated Catcher, it’s just that I didn’t get what the big deal was. This is considered one of the best novels of our century? And it doesn’t even have a plot? Huh? It’s just some kid wandering around New York. Who cares? I mean, I liked his frank honesty about everything – especially how he thought school was phony and nuns were hypocrites…but couldn’t the Salinger have wrapped those insights into a moving tale? Apparently not.

I hoped October would bring something better. For that month, I again turned to Billy Joel for a suggested read, and soon found myself forcing myself to read the dry, rambling, aimless, pointless, X-less (where “X” stands for any quality one may want in a story) waste of paper known as On the Road. In debating with a fellow student about the merits of this novel, she offered this: “Ah, yes, but Kerouac can turn such a good phrase.” Yes, I suppose he can. But far from simply turning a good phrase, I would’ve liked to have seen him turn a good tale. (I suppose this is the opposite problem of the far more readable Dan Brown, who can spin a good yarn but has nary a memorable line in any of his works.)

In November, I read Stranger in a Strange Land (again at the suggestion of Joel) hoping that a Sci Fi tale would at least be palatable. Though I applaud its ability to contain a plot (that’s 1 for 3!), the last third of the book was a mental wasteland.

December equaled The Old Man and the Sea, which easily would have been the crappies book I’d ever read if not for my October experience (see above). A grumpy man with whom I had no concern, struggles to bring a decaying fish back to shore. Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

In January I read Of Mice and Men. Not bad, but certainly not great. In February I read what is probably the greatest example of a botched good idea in the history of sci fi: Fahrenheit 451. In March a read The Metamorphosis, a rambling and belaboring tale that seemed to have something to say, but never succeeded. When I saw it listed on the syllabus for one of my classes this fall, I nearly wanted to drop out of the class (and I ultimately did).

In April, May and June, I read Flowers for Algernon, Johnny Got His Gun and 1984, respectively. And my faith in humanity’s ability to write a good a novel was restored.

Still, I was jaded. In the six years that followed, I read exactly one novel. Needless to say, I’m a lot more picky now.

So long; I’m gonna get back to this book on American History that I’m reading.

 Bottom Line:

The Catcher in the Rye: C

On the Road: F

Stranger in a Strange Land: D

The Old Man and the Sea: F

Of Mice and Men: C

Fahrenheit 451: C

The Metamorphosis: D

Flowers for Algernon: A

Johnny Got His Gun: A

1984: A