The kids are not alright. When my friend Mike remarked how bad a year it’s been for new music releases, I felt relieved; I’m not crazy. Most everything I’ve heard this year is beat-less, drenched in vocal effects and saddled by therapy lingo. I was struggling to put together a mix this month when I decided to instead put up this mix of Mark Eitzel and American Music Club songs in preparation for his eastern-US living room tour this fall.

I’m not a fan of living room shows because it’s awkward around the hosts and am afraid I’ll break something. But Eitzel’s Omaha show will be at Zipline Brewing Co., right next to an actual venue, Slowdown, where Psychedelic Porn Crumpets is headlining that night. Well, we all fade from the limelight, and Eitzel has written no small number of songs alluding to his professional decline. Thankfully, his songwriting skill and vocal delivery has only improved with age. Since moving to Omaha, I didn’t know if I’d ever see him perform again, what with his age, sporadic touring and the cows here outnumbering the populace.

Kids, I know you’re not listening, but the algorithms won’t save you. If you need an unsung elder to inspire your songwriting, this funny, warm, fierce, strange, man is worth a deep dive.

Missing from this playlist are American Music Club’s first four brilliant albums, The Restless Stranger, Engine, California and United Kingdom. Also Eitzel’s 1998 solo record from Matador, Caught in a Trap and I Can’t Back Out ‘Cause I Love You Too Much, Baby. Whew. All five records contain essential songs, and you can find them on Bandcamp here – AMC and solo – along with some other odds ‘n’ sods recordings. So this mix is anything but complete. Still, it’s a start.

What is it about Eitzel’s music that resonates? In the 80s there were hair bands and alternative bands and rap, and when the 90s came along there was grunge and pop-punk and emo and hip hop, and amidst all of this was this weird group of San Francisco musicians who named themselves American Music Club for some godawful reason mixing together rock, folk, country and loungey crooning, then added on top of it all a full-time pedal steel player who refused to twang. It was post-punk they said, then slowcore, then sadcore, then irrelevant, I guess.

I often think about what’s wrong with masculinity these days—how the boys won’t rock and they stink at imitating the ladies. I mine the streaming services for music, waiting for the boys to catch up with what the ladies have been producing these past ten years or so, but I don’t think it will happen. It’s not gender fluidity; that’s not new. Kids, be thankful for the rights your elders have given you, and keep fighting for them, but don’t think for a second you invented any of it. If anything, the language is strangling its joy. Give this playlist a listen. Hear this semi-closeted queer man in the 90s making glorious rock albums with his loving male friends, writing songs to his ex-girlfriend muse who’d retreated to Ohio and eventually met a tragic fate. 

Some cultural touchstones: John Cassevetes movies; Denis Johnson books; Joy Division and Jimmy Scott; cold, clammy San Francisco pierced by that occasionally bright California sky—”a sky so royal and blue.” It’s not bleak, only realistic. Back in the early days, the politics weren’t so foregrounded, but always present was compassion for the oppressed and fury for the fascists. It was fiercely religious while intolerant of the church. It was anti-consumer, beautiful and messy. And goddamnit, it still is. 

American Music Club broke up under the strain of big-label music business pressures in the late 90s, then reformed for a couple of albums in the early 00s. Two members are dead: Tom Mallon and Tim Mooney. Lead guitarist Vudi is in Los Angeles, a musician and city bus driver, the last I heard. I passed him on the street in Los Feliz once and it will always be my big LA celebrity sighting. Bassist Danny Pearson is in Oregon I think, seeming to live a great life, a grandpa, by god. Pedal steel player, multi-instrumentalist Bruce Kaphan is still recording, producing and performing ambient, experimental music.

And Eitzel? I don’t know, really. He has a husband and a dog. We’ll find out on October 12th here in Omaha. He’s touring solo from Minneapolis to Atlanta and all towns in between. Here’s the linky. You never know what you’ll get during a show. Lots of interruptions, asides, lowbrow jokes jostling with cries to the heavens. 

Compared to a bullet, a song seems a small thing, and there are a lot of bullets flying these days. Well, all days. It’s the global sweep of human history. But these songs are bulletproof. Enjoy.