Klinger: Mendelsohn, I’m not going to lie to you. U2’sThe Joshua Tree came out my freshman year of college. A time when everything is huge—the books you read, the friends you make, and the albums you hear are all imbued with epic importance. It’s the only time in your life when it’s OK to be a pretentious dork. Hearing this album again puts me right back in that time. So no matter how many points I lose from my hipper/punker/avant-gardier friends, I simply cannot help but like this album.

Mendelsohn:  I can get behind that kind of enthusiasm. I too have albums that make me feel ways about things. But, and I’m sure you could see this coming a mile away, The Joshua Tree is not one of them. When I reached the legal listening age in the mid-‘90s, U2 had transformed from honest seekers on the musical war path into a garish, sideshow pop culture act. It wasn’t really my thing. And then Bono got appointed goodwill ambassador to every country in the world and I really tuned the band out.

But listening to The Joshua Tree for this project, it’s not hard to see that the hype is justly deserved. This album is a grandiose listening experience. Not in terms of a spectacle but more along the lines of a natural wonder like a tornado or the mighty Mississippi River or a dog pooping in your yard—you can’t help but stare. I know that’s what the band was going for and they seemed to have nailed it.

In the year 2300, alien inhabitants will revere Paul McCartney in the same way Mozart and Beethoven are today. Paul McCartney is an artist of the first rank. The notion that he is talented yet slight (particularly in regards his solo years) simply doesn’t exist except through the lens of Rolling Stone‘s post-Beatles breakup John Lennon worship. McCartney’s effortless mastery (with no suffering artist gimmick) robs him of the serious consideration he deserves.

Paul McCartney just isn’t hip. This week’s reviews of McCartney and McCartney II by Pitchfork are steeped in irony. The site gives the album that molded the entire sound of Pitchfork-branded indie of the late ‘90s/early ‘00s a 7.9; while a record that eclipses the presently hyped synthpop-chillwave fare received a 7.2. McCartney doesn’t get much love from the Rolling Stone old boys club either. An album like Ram is far better than the likes of the usual “top 10 album” mainstays like OK Computer and London Calling. Furthermore, Ram is the only solo Beatles album that maintains the impeccable standard of the ‘65-‘69 Beatles albums, a run that was largely orchestrated by McCartney. Argue whether Lennon or McCartney wrote better songs during this period if you must, but make no mistake: McCartney was the visionary behind every Beatles album starting with Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in 1967.

With over one million copies sold in its first week and three top ten singles leading up to its release in the US alone, Lady Gaga’s new album Born This Way has become a cultural phenomenon, in which Gaga’s declaration of individuality leads all her little monsters to the glorious truth: I’m OK, you’re OK. Actually, we’re all fierce and fabulous. 

Last year’s media attention on bullying seemingly inspired a slew of affirmation songs (for instance, Katy Perry’s “Firework” and Taylor Swift’s “Mean”), but no one has embraced the self-acceptance theme with the fervor of the Lady. This pops up repeatedly throughout the new CD, nowhere more clearly in the title track, in which she advises, “Don’t hide yourself in regret / Just love yourself and you’re set.” Why? Because you were born that way, baby, whatever “way” that might be. A more personal plea comes in “Hair”: “I just wanna be myself / And I want you to love me for who I am.”

The Weather Channel recently reported that the 2011 tornado numbers are 106% above average. And, of course, we’re only halfway through the year. So, if we are going to learn to grin and bear this enhanced, prolonged stormy activity, we need an equally stormy playlist to accompany the thunderstorms, tornadoes, hurricanes, and whatever other maladies Mother Nature might throw our way during this summer season. Thus, I present my selections for such occasions, most effective when played in order accompnaying the trek of the meteorological activity.

The Globes know a few things about school—and, more specifically—what to do when you’ve finished it.

After this quartet of young men graduated from high school in 2007, they wound up moving into a house in their hometown of Spokane, Washington, where they continued to do nothing but refine and work on their craft.  Before long (and after a few off-shoot experiments that lead them to becoming the focused four-piece they are today), the group came across their sound, which is a powerfully moody evocation of mid-‘90s alt-rock: strident poses mingling with serious hooks for a mighty good time (give a listen to the excellent song “A Stitch Couldn‘t Save the World“ to get any idea of what they‘re all about).

Now, with their debut album Future Self having just been unleashed upon the masses, co-songwriter Kyle Musselwhite sat down with PopMatters to discuss suicidal penguins, the long-awaited Wharf/Ewok fight we’re all looking forward to, and the ever-quixotic mystery that is belly button lint . . .