Last month we spoke with the supremely talented Jack Grace, a conversation that ended after an hour and a half but could have easily continued into the afternoon. We talked about how he’s reinvented himself, musically and otherwise, since the pandemic began. We talked about the problem with categorizing music. We talked about terrible band names.
John asked the time-honored question, “What albums would you want with you on a desert island?”— quickly acknowledging that few things would be less useful in that scenario than a bunch of pieces of vinyl.
This led to a trip down memory lane. When Jack and I first became friends in the mid-90s, he revamped my music collection with eight essential albums. Before we met, my musical taste was … uneven, to put it kindly, and one glance at my CDs confirmed this for Jack. There were certainly some then-recent albums that I’d still stand by—Mazzy Star and Nirvana, G. Love and Portishead—and there was a LOT of Led Zeppelin and a little Doors. But the shelves were filled with one-or-no-hit wonders. For the most part, I purchased music because I liked a song I’d heard on the radio, or on “Saturday Night Live.” I was into individual songs more than I was into music or musicians, and certainly more than I appreciated musicianship. And my taste ran the gamut from excellent to embarrassing.
This wouldn’t do, not when I was newly acquainted with Jack and our dear friend Tom, both of whom had musical knowledge and literacy that was the stuff of legends. I had just gotten a birthday gift from my grandmother, a gift certificate to a record store. I asked the guys to help me update my collection, and they accepted the mission with aplomb.
They went to Tower Records and set about helping me to elevate my music collection. These are the eight albums they brought home to surprise me:
Of course musical taste is subjective, and one woman’s treasure is another woman’s trash, but this collection was perfect for me.
I knew all of these artists before, but in a limited way—the greatest, AKA most overplayed, hits— with the exception of Tom Waits; the only song of his I knew at this point was “Martha.” To this day he is one of my favorite songwriters and singers. I know the Dead is not everybody’s cup of tincture, but I love them too, and this double album was an excellent intro to the music beyond the scene—and though “Truckin’” is on there, so are “Mr. Charlie” and “I Know You Rider.” David Bowie is a musical God … the songs of his that I knew best at this point are the ones I’d be most inclined, probably, to skip over if I were in a rush … on this album I discovered “Quicksand,” “Kooks,” “Oh You Pretty Things.”. Dylan, Neil Young (listen to Jack’s episode for a fantastic Neil Young anecdote), the Stones, the Beatles—I knew and respected them all; these albums allowed me to listen to some of the tracks that hadn’t made it onto every other mixed tape I heard during college. And Al Green … as Tom said, “Al Green is love.”
So when the topic came up, Jack referred to this list as “a solid group,” one that would make fine listening on a desert island. And though there are lots of other albums I love and would want to include, I have a soft spot for this collection.
Your turn—what would your desert island albums be?
As a faithful listener of “Desert Island Discs” on BBC radio, I’ve done this exercise too many times to count. And, yet, I’ve never landed on a definitive list. But since I’m here, I’ll play along. And do, without incessantly fussing over it for any longer than I already have (and reserving the right to swap out any and all of these albums without prior notice) here we go:
1. Lou Reed, “Transformer”
2. Television, “Marquee Moon”
3. The Clash, “London Calling”
4. “The Velvet Underground & Nico”
5. Pulp: “Different Class”
6. Neil Young, “Tonight’s the Night”
7. Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, “The Boatman’s Call”
8. Leonard Cohen “I’m Your Man”