I've been resisting adding anything new to the iPod for the past few days, because even though I haven't filled it even halfway yet, I came to the reluctant conclusion that eventually I'm going to have to take stuff off the iPod in order to make room for a) new records, and b) records from my collection that need to be on there but haven't been added yet. So I had a case of temporary paralysis and avoided adding anything at all.

I wasn't listening to the iPod as much as usual this week, either. My NPR fix needed indulging, I guess, and with all the momentous Supreme Court doings this week, it was a good time to indulge it. None of my friends seem to be talking much about yesterday's decision on the sodomy law, but as one of those "straight but not narrow" types, I'm thrilled, and pretty surprised, about it. It's very heartening to me that, in this increasingly ugly Bush era, the Court would actually reverse itself and do something so manifestly right and necessary. It was enough to offset my distaste at the media's inappropriately affectionate eulogizing of that segregationist reprobate Strom Thurmond today. I don't think I'll ever say I'm glad someone is dead, but that doesn't mean I'm sorry about it, either.

Anyway, today I'm back to iPodding away. For one thing, the new Jay Farrar record finally showed up in the mail (courtesy of the fine folks at Miles of Music), and there was no way it wasn't going to be added to the iPod as soon as I could get it there. And so it was. I need to digest it a little more before saying much about it, but so far, so good. Definitely better than Sebastopol, at the very least.

It's a dreamy soundscape sort of record, one that washes over the listener rather than hitting her over the head. And that's just the sort of thing I've been in the mood for lately. Fortunately, the iPod has been cooperating with that mood, playing lots of Canyon and Iron and Wine and, bless its heart, Lori Carson. Of course, it's also been indulging its fondness for White Stripes, who are in no way dreamy, lush, peaceful, or soundscape-y. It's a little jarring sometimes when "Hypnotize" or "Seven Nation Army" or another of the louder tracks from Elephant comes on after, say, a Niamh Parsons song, or a breathy little Iron and Wine tune. But enjoyably so--even though they're not necessarily the kind of band I usually like, I just get a huge kick out of White Stripes. I'm not absolutely convinced I'll still like them, or even remember them, in ten years, but I have to admire Jack White's great guitar playing, and also the intelligence and wit with which they've taken on the music biz. More power to them, says I.

Why am I blogging at work at 5:30 on a Friday evening? A quick recap of what I added to the iPod today, and then off I go.

* Jay Farrar, Terroir Blues. See above.

* The Jam, Extras. I've noticed that some of the live stuff on the BBC box isn't really all that great, so I think I'm going to delete some. And in anticipation of doing so, I put this "for devotees only" collection on the iPod, because I love alternate takes and acoustic demos and scratch vocals and that kind of thing. The vinyl version of Extras is even better, because it has more tracks, but I've never owned it, alas. Confession: I did leave off "Tales from the Riverbank," because honestly, how many versions of that decidedly lesser song do I really need?

* Mclusky, Mclusky Do Dallas. Another band that I may not still love ten years from now, but sometimes you just need to hear someone sing a song like "To Hell with Good Intentions."

* The Velvet Underground, White Light/White Heat. This is sometimes my favorite Velvets record, and though "Heroin" is certainly my single favorite Velvets song, there's nothing quite like the one-two punch of "Here She Comes Now" into "I Heard Her Call My Name." Confession #2: I left off "The Gift," much as I love it, because I've heard the story of Waldo Jeffers reaching his limit and getting his head split open so many times that it's sort of stopped being funny. Sort of. But I did leave on "Lady Godiva's Operation."

* Bobby Bare, Jr., Young Criminals Starvation League. I'm not sure how I've gone this long without having this totally weird and wonderful record on my iPod. It's hard to describe, and it doesn't sound like anything else, really (including Bare Jr.'s much more ordinary rock records), but it's quite irresistible. How can you not love a record on which both the Smiths and one of Bobby's dad's Shel Silverstein-penned country tunes are covered, and both are great?