Patient: I know I got one of them disorders. I'm stalking Dave Pajo, the man behind Papa M, which is not the name of a failed late-80s reggae crossover, but the name of a contemporary math-rocker-cum-quasironic-balladeer. I read Pajo's Livejournal. I print out the pictures. I buy a new ink cartridge when my printouts tint all funny. I've labored to create extensive analyses of his resume and his dandruff. See my assessments of his EPs Three Songs, Songs of Mac and first two tour singles.
Campus Psych Trainee: Hmmm. Well, fanhood's not necessarily a pathology, though many who succumb to it end up unduly regarding their subjects with aggression that suggests emotional reassignment. To what degree would you say you irrationally "subscribe" to Pajo's work?
Patient: That's just it, fakedoc! Pajo's embarked on this somewhat regularly scheduled release-fest. He has his once-mighty label Drag City distribute a three-song blurt every month or so. He calls the singles an "audio tour diary," but here's the real fuck-you-Charley about that claim: His band Zwan imploded, and his solo outfit is not on tour! So why these do two recent issues feature Travelocity artwork of a highway horizon and a railroad crossing?
Campus Psych Trainee: Hmmm. Why do you feel the need to make sense of Pajo's career when your own life is such a shambles? Those Polaroids of your "DNA collection" in the garage were very distressing, to say the least. Hair, and blood...
Patient: ...and Cheerios. Why oh why doesn't Pajo record under a more stealable name? "Papa M" is as peer-to-peer proof as "The The"! When I try to download him, I get Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach", Papa Roach's "M-80", and Run DMC's "Papa Crazy"!
Patient: Okay, on Three he "covers" the Celtic traditional "Wild Mountain Thyme", which you might know from renditions by James Taylor, Glenn Frey, Marianne Faithful, Sandy Denny or Roger McGuinn. At least two of those people have been filmed ruminating behind the wheel of a sports car. Just like Pajo's sometime recording and touring partner's recasts of standards, Pajo changes key lyrics: here, "lassie" becomes "sweet potato." At least he's finally crediting his covers, which is more than can be said for his early vocal work.
Campus Psych Trainee: Hmmm. "Patient draws false connections, and derives deep purposes from their connotations. Suggestive of late-onset schizophrenia."
Patient: After the strings and female backups of that opener, Pajo delivers an acoustic breakdown of Lowell George's classic bit of Stuckey-iana, "Truckstop Girl", a nugget of freighter-core already revisited by The Byrds. Only it's not entirely acoustic. At 3:33, a wailing-cellophane electric guitar solo kicks in! As any occultist can tell you, "333" was all over Madame Blavatsky's sketch of King Solomon's signet ring hexagram. Adolf Hitler planned his suicide on April 30, 1945, at precisely 3:30pm. The White House presented its Middle East road map to Sharon at 3:30 on April 30, 2003. President Bush landed on the Abe Lincoln for his "U.S. Fatalities Not Even Halfway Accomplished" speech at 3:33pm EST, May 1, 2003. The time around April 30-May 1 marks the celebration of the Pagan holiday Beltaine/May Day. Did I mention that this EP is Pajo's third in this series and that it contains 3 songs and comes after an EP called Three Songs? Jesus spent 33 years as a mortal and 3 days dead.
Campus Psych Trainee: Hmmm. Please keep twaddling while I press this button which will alert the restraining orderlies of their need to come and bum-rush you.
Patient: "Who Knows" is one of those great "full-band" Papa M tracks on which he accompanies himself on vocals, keys and at least three echoey guitars. His production is badass, especially the crisp drums, reminiscent of those on his full-length Whatever Mortal's requiem for The Simpsons, "Krusty". This song pales, though, next to Four's equally layered "Long May You Burn", the sweet archness of which recalls Will Oldham's "You Will Miss Me When I Burn", which, coincidentally, Oldham has redone for that cave-in-to-fair-weather-fans album of favorites he made with Trashville sessionaros. "Burn" might be the best thing Pajo's lain down, but for the annoying loop of whispers. With its imagery of snakes and fire and family values, this one's ready to join the great apocalyptic oldies.
Patient: Have you ever listened to "Stand by Me"? What part of "if the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall, and the mountains should crumble to the sea" don't you understand? Pajo's tune is ready to join that classic. Its video should consist of slo-mo shots of the roster-calls of baseballs teams that recently lost the World Series high-fiving each other. The song should be licensed out to a hipster dramedy on The WB called Ian's Creek.
Patient: The six-minute "Local Boy Makes Good" might be a rocker, but it's almost too confident and measured. I am reminded by its outsized squalling Royal Truxery of how record stores display Pajo's EP sleeves in huge, plastic box-set cartridges that won't fit inside my preventive girdle without suggesting prostate cubism. "Local" sounds like Hayden or some such overheater. The only song I haven't touted yet is "Red Curtain", an imposing banjo slowdown that Folkways types will find sprinkled with the ashes of Roscoe Holcomb and Sandy Bull, except for its gleefully anachronistic shout-out to The Modern Lovers. And get a load of the CD artwork! A bird finger! Pa-jo's not gonna take it! No! He's not gonna take it!
Campus Psych Trainee: Hmmm. Here, "take" this pill from a company protected in the Homeland Security Act from lawsuits regarding mercury's link to autism. If you like "hard rock," you'll love "hard science!" Take 3 of these 3 times day for every day you dream of the 3 demons--
