Stranger contributors Kurt B. Reighley (left) and Matt Corwine

This year’s theme is “guilty pleasures” — or, in crit-speak, “Loving Music in the Shadow of Doubt.”

Doubt casts long shadows over music criticism. Think about it: “guilty pleasures” imply that not all pleasure is guiltless. For people who have taken it upon themselves to be full-time guardians and historians of rock music, I suppose your approved guiltless pleasures would be listening to Yo La Tengo and reading Pitchfork. Everything else is up for debate.

Well, the debate starts tonight, and by God we are going to get this shit settled by Sunday, no matter who gets hurt.

At 2:00 on Saturday, long-time Stranger contributor and Border Radio columnist Kurt B. Reighley will put on his tweed blazer and tell you about the sophisticated schmaltz of the Hi-Los. At 11:00 on Sunday, I will school you on the total awesomeness of the Super Mario Bros. theme.

Appearing alongside us are lesser music industry figures like Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields, Drew Daniel of Matmos and Soft Pink Truth, and some guy called Robert Christgau.

Abstracts for our talks after the jump.

Kurt Reighley

Cringeworthy
Saturday, April 29, 2006, 2:00 - 3:45

Abstract:

"Up & Down with Hi-Lo’s"

Visually, the Hi-Lo's epitomized Eisenhower Era showbiz: Crew cuts, matching suits, gleaming smiles. From 1952 to the early '60s, these four neat guys from Los Angeles never changed their image; the Kingston Trio looked like hoodlums by comparison. Consequently, the pop vocal quartet was deemed "safe" for the airwaves (especially television) - but far too square for acceptance from serious jazz critics, who preferred to laud Mel Tormé and the sound-alike Mel-Tones.

Yet the Hi-Lo's flaunted convention every time they performed; their own label boss, notorious Columbia Records schlock-meister Mitch Miller, derided their work as too complex. Member Gene Puerling's startling arrangements of standards – filled with complex rhythms, dissonant harmonies, and huge vocal leaps – married the eerie precision of European serialist composition to the unbridled zaniness of Warner Bros. cartoons. Like great opera singers, the Hi-Lo's were acrobats of the highest order, routinely tricking their voices into defying the body's assumed limitations.

Brian Wilson is hailed as one of rock's greatest innovators. The Mamas & the Papas scored a dozen hits. Thirty years after the Free Design disbanded in obscurity, their tracks are staples of hipster iPods. So why is adoring the Hi-Lo's – cited by all three of those acts as a primary influence – as rare and hopelessly geeky today as earning a varsity letter in glee club? The Hi-Lo's didn't just "make" music; as albums like 1962's The Hi-Lo's Happen to Bossa Nova attest, the Hi-Lo's happened. So what the hell happened to the Hi-Lo's?

Matt Corwine

Dancing with the Architecture
Sunday, April 30, 2006, 11:00 - 12:45

Abstract:

"Super Mario Jams"

Every era has its standards. Our grandparents had "Mack the Knife," which leaped out of Kurt Weill's 1928 Threepenny Opera and bounced from Louis Armstrong to Bobby Darin to Ella Fitzgerald before ending up as a Big Mac jingle in 1980.

Today's orchestras, jam bands, rappers and remixers are giving the same loving treatment to the theme from Super Mario Bros., the video game about stomping turtles and eating mushrooms that made psychedelic drugs redundant for a generation of twitchy players. Koji Kondo's original score, designed to be easy on the ears through hours of gameplay, has spawned tributes that range from honest, to ironic, to surprising, to craptacular. Classical guitarists, high school bands and the Tokyo Philharmonic draw sophistication and nuance from its deceptively simple form. Phish play a cover that veers from Stevie Wonder to Dixieland smooth jazz. Mr. Bungle pepper their drunken, sloppy version with meandering oompah freakouts. A beefy instrumental from DJ Clue drives the Coco Brovas' "Super Brooklyn" and countless mixtape freestyles—one bootleg has Sage Francis throwing our verses about Metroid and Zelda, while MC Chris plays on its adolescent nostalgia with a naughty serenade for the game's helpless princess.

Thanks to cheap software, '80s nostalgia and the rise of remix culture, Super Mario Bros. has become an enduring standard of our time.