Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

We walked the darkened streets at night, ignoring our studies, ignoring sleep, ignoring the sleeping world. We walked for miles past the abandoned houses on the edge of town, through peaceful  cemeteries, along disused train tracks, near the banks of the river. We trekked through every mile of that dirty old town. We knew where to find the alienated junk shops, the best broken pop machines, the forgotten hulls of ancient automobiles. The scent of an angry skunk, the wandering characters that populated that town, and the street sweepers that patrolled back alleys; none were strangers. We should have even known them by their secret names. All my life I walked at night with honest compatriots, who knew the thrill. We broke out of our houses, disobeying parents to while away the quiet hours of the morning. We ran from commitments, necessary or imagined, to smell the stale night air in August, or to breathe in fresh spring rains. Nothing beat the feeling of strolling down an unknown s...

Staring at the unrelenting forgiveness of the shower wall, I stumble into the regrets of the past. Each year ticks off the clock and goals fall underneath the wheels of graduate school and time, slowly slipping towards a reaper with few words and little sympathy. The wall is clean, yet the grout is stained. Dark dirt sleeps in the crack of the shower nozzle. It might hold redemption or just another ray of chlorinated water slipping down the drains of the world. The water circles backwards and forwards, unceasing. Its blues and greens match the eyes of the world's watchers. Here I am, I think. Another day or week older, another step closer to some goal, another shadow of my former self. The mirror reflects a cracked visage, one a little rounder, a little more grizzled, perhaps, a little wiser. So much time is spent in the bathroom examining and reexamining, warbling long forgotten pop songs. Thinking, thinking, thinking, and more regret. It is here that honesty exists within each ...

Grant Lee Phillips' Walking in the Green Corn is a contemplative affair, much like 2009's understated Little Moon . Unassuming yet self-aware, Phillips' songs pack a quiet power.  Always a first-rate vocalist and lyricist, he digs deeper here paying homage to his Native American heritage in ways he hasn't since Virginia Creeper. Phillips blends his subtle lyrics with quiet guitars and tons of intimacy. He expertly sets the stage for his story songs, taking his time in order to get the details just right. On "Vanishing Song" his lyrics are sparse, yet they tell an expansive tale of times long gone. "Great Horned Owl" is more upbeat, recalling Grant Lee Buffalo more than Phillips' solo work but still creating a vibe of late nights and long ago moments. Walking in the Green Corn perfectly captures the intimacy one feels with old friends as new discoveries become more important because they are made together. Phillips' narrative world is f...