The Instant Fan Chronicles, Part 5

"Conversation with a Ghost," Ellis Paul
In the most recent installment of this series, I wrote about becoming a David Wilcox fan; this time around, I'm leading off by writing about one of several artists I latched onto during the years that immediately followed, during which I'd been pretty severely bitten by the neo-folk bug. Aside from being tuneful and hyper-literate, this stuff had the additional advantage — for me, anyway — of sounding nothing at all like the increasingly grungy and/or mechanized stuff on MTV and the radio. All of which is to say that when I grabbed a used copy of Ellis Paul's Say Something, he had my attention from the opening notes of "Conversation with a Ghost." As an artist, he tends to be a single-speed vehicle, so my fascination with his music wasn't super long-lasting — but this is still a very pretty song.

"Song for the Muses," Ernie Isley
As a pale suburban 16-year-old in 1990, I certainly knew who the Isley Brothers were, but I had no concept of who Ernie was within the family band. High Wire was a revelation, in other words — and all these years later, I remain sad and annoyed that market demand was apparently insufficient for a follow-up. The stuff the Brothers have done since the '80s has its place, but man do I wish Ernie had spent more time on his solo career. This record is an overlooked gem.

"What's Up Fatlip?," Fatlip
I went into High Wire knowing Ernie Isley was a member of the Isley Brothers, but I confess to having no idea that Fatlip was a member of the Pharcyde the first time I heard "What's Up Fatlip?" I'm not sure it would have mattered much either way — the important thing was really just how hard Fatlip made me laugh from line to line while he ran down all the reasons his life was a mess and his career was in the toilet. "I make myself sick, get on my own nerves / Immature, insecure grown-up nerd / Has-been MC on a label that's unstable / Choppin' bliggy on the table."

"Crazy Over You," Foster & Lloyd
During an interview I conducted a week or two ago, I bonded with the subject by talking about how neither of us considered ourselves big country fans the first time we heard Foster & Lloyd's "Crazy Over You," but we both knew we loved what we were hearing. Like a lot of F&L's stuff, "Crazy" isn't not a country song, but their sound brilliantly balanced twang with pure pop songcraft in a way that highlighted the strength of both without pandering to either. It's a tricky balance, and one that unfortunately didn't lead to big sales for them over the long term, but these guys both remain perennial favorites for me, whether they're playing together or apart.

"Ordinary Day," Great Big Sea
One of countless acts I was introduced to while trawling the bins at my local used CD emporium throughout the '90s, Great Big Sea were relative unknowns in the States when Warners released Rant and Roar in 1998, but they were already legends in Newfoundland and Canada, where their bright and catchy brand of harmony-drenched pop put them in the same upper echelon occupied by the soon-to-be-worldwide Barenaked Ladies. BNL ended the year rolling in platinum; GBS did not. Still, as "Ordinary Day" suggests, there may be an alternate world not far different from our own in which these guys topped charts and headlined festivals around the globe.

"How the Day Sounds," Greg Laswell
Artists like Greg Laswell occupy a soft spot on my listening axis, because while they're definitely in my wheelhouse, they're also extremely TV-ready in a way that can't help but make you feel like you're gorging on junk food after a while. For that reason, there isn't much I could tell you about Laswell's discography as a whole — I just learned he was once married to Ingrid Michaelson while writing this post! — but I also cannot deny that my soul was stirred the first time I heard "How the Day Sounds." If listening to it makes you feel like you heard it as part of the soundtrack to something or other, the odds are pretty decent that you're right.

"I Miss You," The Honeydogs
In the fall of 1997, I was in a long-distance relationship that sent me driving between the Bay Area and Santa Barbara. This is the reason I initially fell for the Honeydogs, and also the reason I stopped listening to their Seen a Ghost album after that relationship ended. Great songwriting always wins, however; years later, when I realized these guys were still a thing, I checked back in, and was thrilled to discover that they were better than ever. (Frontman Adam Levy's solo album is also one of the most beautifully heartbreaking records I've ever heard.)

"Joining a Fan Club," Jellyfish
Jellyfish's first album flew more or less under my radar — I remember seeing photos of the band and thinking they were trying too hard — but it took next to no time for their second (and tragically final) LP, Spilt Milk, to knock me out. If you've read my stuff for any length of time, you've probably seen me wax rhapsodic about these guys and this record in particular more times than you need to, so I'll dispense with the formalities and just drop this track here. If you've somehow never listened to Spilt Milk, do yourself a favor and bring that sad streak to an end as soon as possible.

"Scar That Never Heals," Jeremy Fisher
Between Jeremy Fisher and Great Big Sea, I guess this is the unofficial Canadian edition of the Instant Fan Chronicles — although listening to "Scar That Never Heals" is probably more likely to leave you thinking about "Me and Julio"-esque Paul Simon than Paul Shaffer. I've been up and down with Fisher's stuff ever since, but this is a perfect pop song, and the album it's from is pretty perfect too.

"Scar," Joe Henry
I can't recall what spurred me to purchase Joe Henry's Scar album in 2001. I know I'd heard of him, and was at least tangentially aware of the stuff he'd done with the Jayhawks, which I'd never heard but seemed like it was probably somewhere south of interesting. Truth be told, I'm pretty sure I spent much of the '90s mixing him up with Joe Ely. Whatever triggered the impulse buy, I'm awfully glad I listened, because it opened the gateway to an artist who's been one of my favorites ever since — although if I'm being perfectly honest, it took more than a few listens for this boundary-disrespecting work to truly seep in. With the exception, that is, of the title track, which is one of the most breathtakingly lovely love songs I've ever heard:

What does this look like to you?
A mark so fine, you barely see
You have one just like it, too
A twisting vine
A mark so fine

'Cause I love you with all I am
And you love me because you are
As fearless as a twisting vine
A mark so fine
But still a scar

I mean... come on.