By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

Released in 2007, the third album from Canadian singer-songwriter Leslie Feist went a long way to solidify not only her artistry but also her fan base. Having released her debut album, Monarch, in 1999, she soon had listeners take notice of her signature, somewhat haunting vocal style, mixed with deceptively simple songs.

She was taking the pop song and twisting it into her own shape, combining a variety of elements and making them her own. Let It Die followed in 2004, launching her even higher and winning her two Canadian Juno Awards for 'Best New Artist' and 'Best Alternative Rock Album.' Somewhere in between those first two albums, she joined forces with Canadian indie rockers Broken Social Scene, with whom she played for several years, both live and in the studio.

The Reminder arrived in the spring of 2007, entering the US Billboard charts at No. 16. It brought her yet another round of Juno Awards for 'Best Pop Album of 2007' and 'Best Album of 2007,' as well as a Grammy nomination for 'Best Pop Album.' "One record really just dovetailed into the next," she said in a 2013 interview. "I recorded The Reminder while I was on tour for Let It Die, and then just sort of continued touring, but with a different record."

Unlike her previous works, The Reminder featured all songs written or co-written by Feist. The previous album included covers of songs by Ron Sexsmith, the Bee Gees, Françoise Hardy, and others, as well as Feist originals. On The Reminder,she made a conscious effort to keep it all coming from within. "I think I knew I didn't want to sing any covers," she said in an interview for the album. "I had a hard time singing other people's lyrics, more than melodies. Melodies are sort of like a waterslide; if it's someone else's melody, it can just be like you're along for the ride, and it's really fun."

As her songwriting developed, she took note and ran with it. "As I got older, the people I was playing with, we all started to get a little more proficient, and melodies became more interesting," she noted, adding that her lyrics developed in their own way as well. "I go a lot to using nature symbolism—things like storms, volcanoes, lightning, thunder, and earthquakes, the massive movements of the earth—to relate to emotions." The songs had more layers upon first listen, with even more uncovered with every spin. Songs like ‘My Moon, My Man’ and ‘1-2-3-4’ stood out as unique alongside others of the era.

Though Feist continues to make music, having released three albums in the 17 years since The Reminder, it is that album that people still talk about as her golden moment. Check it out here on The Summit FM Album Essentials.

By Summit FM Contributor Marc Lee Shannon

March 15th, 2015. It’s my first solo all-original singer-songwriter gig—sober.

Location? A downtown bar that used to be the late-night palace of promises to myself to quit my drinking, and here I was on the stage, tuning, pacing, and panicking.

Tonight, I was flying without a net.

The previous November, I finally managed to string together consecutive days, weeks, and months without booze or anything, and I was on a roll. An old friend, a kind and generous matron of the establishment, had promised a Benjamin for a one-hour set, and I needed it—the money, the lift of playing my songs, and the knowledge that it could be done by me stone-cold sober.

I won’t get into the nights of debauchery and the tales of my inebriated escapades, as I have spent many clicks on my Mac telling those stories. How I rarely drank on stage at the end of my time using alcohol; instead, always afterward, a seemingly innocent water bottle filled to the top under the front seat. Only it wasn’t water. Yeah, that was me, and I was the guy frowning when you called for "one more song" at the night’s end. I wanted to get to my car and work on the pre-buzz to get me to the real buzz at home, where the giant bottle was waiting like a lover, peering through the blinds. "Are we there yet?" my brain would plead as I turned into the driveway where I could finally drink my fill, and my spirit could rest until tomorrow.

Years later, I learned that scientific studies consistently show that when we listen to (or play, in my case) music, the brain releases a chemical that gives us a sense of pleasure. Dopamine is the same neurotransmitter that helps us savor the joy of food, the depth of intimacy with a loved one, and the euphoria from alcohol, tobacco, and, in my case, other substances that I was ingesting daily. Because of my consistent use over the years, my brain had developed a habit that would require a long period of abstinence before it could finally reset and recover. Like someone trying to quit smoking, the way to remove the urge was to get treatment and work a program.

That incredible feeling I had as a teenager strapping on a Gibson guitar, plugging in, and playing those first chords had morphed into something completely different over the years. Now, in early recovery, I desperately wanted that sense of satisfaction, that rush, to return. I was determined to get it back, and tonight, without drinking, I was on the high wire.

Thankfully, I had sober support in the house and some good rehearsal under my belt, and I let it loose. In the first song, my voice was pitchy, and I messed up the chords in the verse, but I got through it. Somewhere in the middle of that first solo set, sober, it hit me: that feeling where one plus one equals three for a performing artist, and I was in the zone. Bruce Springsteen described it as something of a magic trick in his Broadway show, where suddenly you "got it."

The audience was with me, nodding and smiling, and my guitar playing and singing were perfectly in sync and in tune. It was like that first gig as a sophomore in the Irish Troubadour Club at St. Vincent-St. Mary’s all those years before. I was back.

In the next few months, I would join my bandmates in Michael Stanley and the Resonators on stage with a different vibe. Resilient and confident, I would experience an almost intuitive sense when playing in that ensemble with those other incredible musicians—the enchanting intoxication of playing sober with the knowledge that you have prepared your mind and spirit to be here, and no artificial inspiration is needed.

Looking back, like many in the recovery fellowship have repeatedly told me, "It just keeps getting better." Just like "the Boss" said…

It is a magic trick.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

Way back when, soundtracks to movies were usually a film score with the occasional vocal track for the title tune. Often created by one composer or artist, these soundtracks served as a sonic companion to the film. From the countless brilliant Henry Mancini soundtracks of the 1960s (and beyond) to the great jazz and classical scores, they captured the mood perfectly. At some point, the soundtrack became a thing unto itself. For the sake of argument, I’m going to cite the 1973 American Graffiti double album as one of the first to not only stand alone while still serving the movie but to become a significant release in its own right. The film, set in 1962, fit right in with the '50s revival happening at the time—Sha Na Na, The Lords of Flatbush, Ringo covering '50s pop hits, and eventually Happy Days. The hippie hangover had caused many to dive backward several years.

As the years went by, the soundtrack album became not only a significant companion to the film it represented but often a moneymaker in its own right, sometimes enjoying a longer life than the movie. Flash forward to the mid-1990s, and those kids wanted their own soundtrack. Call it what you want—slackers, Generation X—but they were primed for their moment in the spotlight. Two such soundtracks that come to mind are Singles and Reality Bites.

The film featured a cavalcade of hip actors of the era, such as Winona Ryder, Ethan Hawke, Ben Stiller, and Janeane Garofalo, making it a box office hit. Plus, what could be more '90s than a cameo from Soul Asylum's Dave Pirner and druggy poster boy crooner Evan Dando to seal that MTV vibe?

The soundtrack covered similar ground, with one notable exception, leading to the Reality Bites album becoming one of the best-loved soundtracks of its time, if not one of the biggest sellers. Tracks from Juliana Hatfield, the Posies, Lenny Kravitz, Dinosaur Jr., Lisa Loeb, and U2 all resonated and helped push the album into the Billboard Top 20. Reggae band Big Mountain scored a bona fide hit with their cover of the Peter Frampton classic "Baby, I Love Your Way," and the 1981 Squeeze gem "Tempted" ensured the '80s were not forgotten.

However, it was a classic song from 1979 that perhaps defines what the soundtrack—and the film—is fondly remembered for. While grabbing snacks at the mini-mart, the radio starts playing "My Sharona" by the Knack, causing the girls to get excited and start dancing. It’s charmingly cute in all its rapid vapidness, and then it’s over! This brief scene caused, if only momentarily, classic rock radio to revisit the Knack song, giving it a nostalgic boost. Thankfully, Knack leader Doug Fieger was still alive to bask in that moment of glory. The band, who had reunited a few years prior, released two killer post-Reality Bites albums. Like any good product placement, it certainly didn’t hurt! I could easily continue rambling about the Knack, but if you’re interested in more about them, please check below.

As for the film being some sort of Gen X profile, one of the actors saw it differently. "They're going to try and market it as a Generation X story, which is the stupidest thing. It’s not," Garofalo told David Letterman upon the film's release. "It’s just that the cast happened to be in their twenties and the director is in his twenties. It's just a love triangle story; it’s not Generation X. It’s not whatever the studio is deciding they're going to hook into whatever buzzword to market it. It's just a normal small story."

Regardless, Reality Bites, the album, captured the mood of the film as well as that moment in time—the 1990s, before smartphones, talent shows, reality shows, auto-tuning, AI, alternate facts, and 9/11. Yeah, I guess it was a simpler time.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

What happens when your “side project” gains momentum and takes off down the road unexpectedly? You roll with it, and let it go! Just ask acclaimed singer/songwriter Ben Gibbard, of Death Cab For Cutie, who in 2003, took a break from DCFD to work on some other ideas, which would become The Postal Service. Eventually, an album, 'Give Up,’ was created, which would capture the hearts of many, selling over a million copies. Not bad for vacation from their day gig!

Released by Sub Pop, in early 2003, 'Give Up' was the culmination of a collaboration of Gibbard and musical pal James Tamborello (sometimes known as 'Dntl'). Though the duo hardly pursued this as a full-time thing, little by little, fans began to notice there was something interesting going on here. Singles like 'Such Great Heights' and 'We Will Become Silhouettes' helped gain indie/college radio play, while well placed appearances in various ads, films, etc., gradually got the Postal Service noticed. Though it may have taken a longer road to get there, the album would ultimately sell over a million copies.

The electronic based style of the duo seemed to stand alone, while simultaneously sounding familiar and sparklingly new. It was, in many ways, the sound of 90's 'electronica,' bringing along 80's synth pop, on a cinematic road trip. If it weren't for the electronic instrumentation, 'Such Great Heights' could/would have been a Death Cab hit with its upbeat, catchy vibe. In fact, it did become a 'hit' by a less traditional set of criteria says Gibbard. "It was a trip for me to have this song become, not so much a hit in the Billboard sense of the word, but certainly a hit in the sense that, every coffee shop I walked into, it was playing," recalled Gibbard. "Every bar, every store I walked into, it was playing. It just became this ubiquitous piece of music."

The colors in the paint box may have changed, but the pop instincts of Gibbard remained in place. With Gibbard in Seattle, and Tamborello in L.A., the collaboration took shape via home demos sent back and forth to each other via, you know it, the U.S. mail. "We just worked like that off and on," recalled Gibbard in a recent interview. "I would do these demos in Pro-Tools, do a bunch of vocals, guitars, maybe some keyboard bits, do a rough mix, then send it back to Jimmy."

The creative process would continue on this path until this batch of material would become the album 'Give Up.' Gibbard had become a fan of the band Rilo Kiley, and out of the blue, he approached their singer, Jenny Lewis, about adding some vocals to the songs. Rilo Keily and Death Cab were, at the time, on the same label, so Gibbard tracked Lewis down and asked her if she would be interested in taking part in this project. Much to his surprise, she was "totally into it," with her distinct vocals adding a much needed element to the sound, and creating an ongoing friendship.

It was a case of the right music at the right time, and it just caught people by surprise. It is interesting to note that 'Give Up' remains Sup Pop's biggest selling album in their history, second only to Nirvana's 'Bleach.'

By Chad Miller - Summit FM Music Director

What's everyone been listening to out there? So much new music coming at us, so little time... However, these songs that might fly under the radar to most are what I've been diggin' these past few weeks!

Like what you hear? Please email me at chad@thesummit.fm and let me know what you think!

By Matt Anthony - Summit FM Contributor

We had just checked out at one of the local chain grocery stores, the one with lower prices but a limited selection. As anyone who takes on the chore of food shopping can attest, it doesn’t seem to matter much lately where one shops. (If you’re a devoted fan of olive oil like me, you understand. The price of that golden-green liquid is just extraordinary!)

We had just filled our worn bags with our minimal provisions and were starting to move towards the exit when a woman ahead of us, who had also finished checking out, mentioned to a store employee that she had forgotten something. In this store, a metal railing separated the 'in' from the 'out,' so she was instructed to go through the exit, make a 360-degree turn, and come back in to retrieve her forgotten item.

We were exiting as she was making the wide circle with her cart to re-enter. The woman and Donna made eye contact briefly, and with a forlorn expression, the woman said to Donna, “I forgot my bread.”

All three of us paused for several seconds, and Donna smiled and replied, “I do that too.”

It was an odd and strangely poignant moment, and I thought about it several times that day as we made our way back home. Did this woman also suffer from dementia? Was Donna able to recognize it instantly? And in that moment, was there an immediate connection? I’ll never know for sure.

Kamala Harris is fond of saying, “We share more similarities than we do differences,” and I believe that’s true. Having a seemingly inane conversation while waiting in line at a store, a friendly but brief exchange with a ticket-taker at a show or a ballgame, or simply nodding at a fellow rider on a bicycle as you pass each other on a path—there’s comfort, I think, in knowing that we’re all just muddling through, trying our best to do good, not harm others, and appreciate this once-in-a-lifetime chance that we have.

My friend Marc Lee Shannon speaks and writes eloquently about ‘finding your tribe.’ I’ve always agreed with his premise. I think he’s right. I wonder, though, if we truly need to search that diligently. Are we making it more difficult than it needs to be? And is the common bond we share—as just mortal beings slogging through the muck and trying to get to the other side—hidden in the walls and complexities that we’ve constructed ourselves?

Why do we high-five a stranger sitting next to us in a sports bar when the Browns score? (If they score, that is!) Why do we sometimes nod or smile at others in the waiting area of a doctor’s office? These actions may seem random and nonsensical, but in that momentary burst of a shared human experience—however rudimentary or abrupt it may be—I feel almost a twinge of gratitude. It gives me solace to know that, perhaps, I’m not alone. And neither are you.

I recall having a quick chat several years ago with a guy at a motorcycle dealership who was also waiting to have his bike worked on. I just liked him. He looked me in the eye when he spoke and had a certain ambiance about him that seemed to mesh with the patois we shared on that humid day in the customer-service waiting area. I’m not sure why, but when the service manager announced that his bike was done, we shook hands as he left.

Riding away later in the day, I felt as if I had known him for a long time, as if we could have been friends in a past or future life. What bike he rode, where he went to high school, or what he enjoyed on his pizza—those are just details learned over time. But that exact moment of a shared experience can be something moving and enjoyable.

Or, in Donna’s case, at the supermarket, something subtle and powerful.

I’m not always successful, but I try to remind myself that the seemingly bored person exchanging out your DVR at the cable store may have something unique to add to your day if given the opportunity. The soft-spoken lady on the phone assigned to help you understand the extra charge on your utility bill might just need a not-so-angry voice on the other end to keep her from chalking up her day as a total disaster. Or the disheveled person holding the sign at the red light might be looking for you to roll down your window and ask ‘what happened,’ instead of just needing a couple of bucks.

A tiny extra fiber of gratitude might be lurking, along with the next close encounter.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

I don't know about you, but I strongly dislike the term "dropped" when talking about the release of a new album. “So and so’s new one drops this week” sounds like elders using the term "groovy" in 1975. It's over! A product is released, issued, or perhaps "hits the shelves" if you like, but don’t say it “drops” anymore. With that in mind, leave it to Jack "Riff King" White to unleash (there ya go!) his new offering with a mere moment’s notice last month. One day it was an unknown variable; the next day, it was in the hands of fans! He is proceeding along that same trajectory with his tour. All in all, it’s a cool idea and one that has helped create spontaneous interest in what Mr. White is up to. No long anticipation games—here it is! And what is it? It’s "No Name," the new album from Jack White, that’s what. And how does it sound? It sounds like, of all things, Jack White! We are on a roll, kids!

Since first rolling out of the Detroit rock and roll scene of the late '90s with the White Stripes, Jack has always kept a supply of riffs on hand for the next attack. On "No Name," he’s armed and ready to go another round.

The album was initially made available to some fans at Third Man Records locations, where customers were slipped, guerrilla-style, free unmarked white-label vinyl copies into their shopping bags. On Thursday, August 1, a special blue vinyl edition was made available in Third Man Records retail stores and select independent record stores across the world. All this was done before many even knew for certain what it was or what was going on. A "regular" black vinyl edition was then available for mass consumption. Talk about creating a buzz!

True to his DIY roots, this album was recorded, produced, and mixed by White at his Third Man Studio over the past two years, then pressed to vinyl at Third Man Pressing, and released by Third Man Records. In other words, it was an inside job! This surprise unveiling of "No Name" proved that there was still excitement to be had in the indie rock world.

The album kicks off with a, wait for it, riff-based tune called "Old Scratch Blues" that is as signature a Jack White song as one could want. The Zep-Garage blast is a fine way to kick things off. "Bless Yourself" is full of anger and attitude but lacks a kick-ass guitar break! "That's How I'm Feeling" rings like prime White thunder with its own translation of the "Stepping Stone" riff that has served countless garage rockers well over the decades. "It's Rough on Rats" has its own "Four Sticks" vibe, while "Bombing Out" is a primal garage stomp in action.

Despite his love of all things Led Zeppelin, one lesson he has yet to take away from those rock gods is the calling for higher fidelity! The bulk of the album sounds like it's blasting out of a transistor radio, which, of course, may be what Jack White was going for. Either that, or it’s possible I’m going deaf. To which, "What?" is the correct response. Either way, it is not a Hi-Fi approach, but perhaps that’s true to his vision of presenting this raw, unpolished gem. From start to end, it’s classic Jack White and manages to, seemingly, represent the various corners of his solo work all under one roof. Chances are, if you're a fan, you will already be digging it immensely, and if you’re not, there’s nothing new here to turn your head, though it may be as good a time as any to investigate what this guy has been, and still is, up to. As they say, it was made loud to be played loud!

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

Chappell Roan has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, with a debut album that is catching fire more and more every day, hence the appearance in the 'Essentials' series. Our own Brad Savage always has one eye on the future, one on the past, and one on the used record bin, but I digress. The sound of Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, the debut LP from Chappell Roan, has been described as "campy pop," as it combines elements of pop music's glorious past with nods to synth-pop, disco, a dash of country, and a few fragments of pop/rock mixed in.

Unafraid to lay it all on the line, Chappell has strong ties to the LGBTQ community and has been championed for her "journey of self-discovery" and for "embracing her sexual identity." "This job allows me to be whoever I want, because there are no boundaries," she said in an interview, also stating that a large part of her image and style was inspired by drag queens.

Born Kayleigh Rose Amstutz, she has been immersed in music as far back as she can remember. Like many from the new generation, she got her start on YouTube with an original composition titled "Die You," which ultimately caught the attention of Atlantic Records. They signed Roan and released the EP School Nights, followed by the single "Pink Pony Club." Following that release, she was suddenly dropped from Atlantic. Fear not, as Island Records were waiting in the wings to release her debut full-length, Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, in the fall of 2023 to seemingly universal acclaim.

Born in 1998 in Willard, Missouri, Roan knew her path to follow her dream would take her out of her Midwest roots, but she still incorporates those roots into her identity. "I always wanted to tie my project back here," she stated in a promo video for the album. "Even though I felt like I didn't belong, I have to honor this place that raised me, no matter how I feel about it. It's just always going to be a part of me."

The decidedly retro-'80s pop music vibe has drawn many people to Roan. "Good Luck, Babe" sounds like a long-lost hit from a John Hughes film, while "Super Graphic Ultra-Modern Girl" and "Hot to Go!" certainly have every dance floor, of any given gender, bouncing to the electro-dance beat pulsing along. There are elements of everyone from Madonna, Josie Cotton, and Cyndi Lauper to a brief touch of Kate Bush and Annie Lennox popping up here and there.

So if you like your pop music with many retro references, dig in. She's just getting started. Will she be in it for the long haul? Will the fans still be there when all is said and done? Will she gain a place at the table next to the mega stars of yesteryear? Will she end up in the "where are they now" file? Stay tuned, and in the meantime, enjoy!

By Matt Anthony - Summit FM Digital Media Specialist

Don’t cut yourself. Don’t cut yourself. Don’t cut yourself.

I found myself mumbling this mantra with more repetition than The Beatles at the end of “Hey Jude.” I tried to recall everything I had watched on YouTube earlier during my morning stationary bike ride. But I was freaking myself out, and the dichotomy of trying to ‘be good to myself’ while risking a trip to the ER was perhaps more than I could handle that early in the day. Even Animals by Pink Floyd wasn’t helping.

Shaving with cartridge razors was hurting my wallet. And from what I’d been reading, those expensive little plastic thingies were also bad for landfills. So, after perusing one of the many articles urging you to rethink what you do and how you do it, I became intrigued by the suggestion of ‘stepping back in time and shaving like your grandfather used to,’ all in the spirit of helping the planet.

I admit that shaving with a safety razor, or ‘wet shaving,’ has become somewhat of an obsession lately. Razors are like tattoos: once you get one, you want another. Six months ago, I knew nothing about these instruments except that they looked like something you’d find at either The Bomb Shelter or a barbershop museum. I have a vague memory of my father shaving in the bathroom with a ‘butterfly razor,’ a one-piece unit that, when twisted at the handle, would split the top of the razor apart, revealing the location where the blade would reside. Single, individual blades always sort of frightened me anyway.

But I was doing it! And I didn’t perish! Somehow, during that maiden voyage into wet shaving, I managed to avoid a bloody catastrophe. I stared at myself in the mirror, moving slowly and methodically as #geofatboy had instructed me on YouTube, carefully gliding my first two-piece closed-comb beauty, a gorgeous rose-gold German-made Muhle R89, across my virgin whiskers.

What, in the name of Gillette, can we possibly learn about ‘gratitude’ by scraping a single Feather blade across our cheeks and neckline? (Or our legs and underarms?) Yes, I certainly wanted to play my part in not dumping pricey, disposable plastic waste into the garbage universe. But what I have discovered in the past six months is that this every-other-day necessity, an act that many of us do robotically and without much thought, can be a lesson in ‘intentional gratitude.’

“It’s an instrument that can be used every day for us to stay present,” says Anita Avedian of Brainz magazine and a licensed family therapist.

Of course, those who practice Zen are already tasked with the challenge of trying to live and practice in the present moment. But as I pedaled away in the basement, trying to acquaint myself with terms like ‘going against the grain,’ ‘BBS’ (‘baby-bottom-smooth!’), and ‘staying at a 30% angle,’ I began to view this sometimes-daily act of ritual boredom as a way to be intentionally good…to myself! And, in the spirit of Zen, if I’m good to myself, perhaps that intentional act could be projected onto others.

Does gratitude fall into categories like ‘active’ and ‘passive’? I had been driving around the week before, with Living Colour’s Time’s Up blasting from the tinny speakers in our 2012 vehicle, running that question through my mind. I knew that I had been lackadaisical regarding a more active strategy for demonstrating gratitude for what others had done for me.

But a few people close to me often pose the question, “What are you doing for you?” So, in the spirit of discovery, was I being intentional enough…with myself?

At times, after sitting meditation, I’ll think about my intent for the day. Can I please try not to be in a bad mood? Will I gratefully show something to someone else, something I may be familiar with, in a teaching moment? More importantly, will I intentionally try to do good for another without regard for reciprocation?

But later in the morning, it hit me. While preparing my coffee, I suddenly realized why I enjoy making it so much and why I want to derive enjoyment from its taste: because I try to prepare it with intent. Learning how to roast the beans with greater skill, being fixated on arriving at the optimal grind, and, probably most importantly, allowing the time each morning to carefully dribble the correct amount of water onto the beans during the pour-over—thereby doing justice to the person or family who cultivated it, as well as the person who packaged it and shipped it—so that I could benefit from it.

It's the same with shaving, I think. Rather than haphazardly sliding a mass-produced, five-bladed, budget-busting, uninteresting piece of plastic around my face while thinking of 17 other things at the same time, I set aside 15-20 minutes every other day—with intent—to give something to myself. And this art form, in a sense, can both pamper my sometimes-frazzled psychological and spiritual nerves and, at the same time, honor those who came before me.

More importantly, I believe that giving thoughtful, intentional gratitude for this new interest (okay, ‘obsession,’ I admit it) can teach me about doing other things with ‘intent.’ The right amount of pre-shave lotion, adding the correct amount of Proraso with an eyedropper of 7 ml of water, and then carefully working the brush inside the bowl so that it actually starts to resemble ‘shaving cream.’ Allowing that cream to sit and work its magic with patience before loading up the razor.

Oh, and these razors! The classic Merkur 37-C has been made in Germany for decades, and its feel and balance in the hand are perfection! The longer handle helps newbies like me maintain the proper angle. The sleek Henson AL-13, a lighter, aerodynamic looker from our Canadian friends north of the border, will silently and crisply take care of a three-day growth with laser efficiency. And, last night, with The Stones’ Voodoo Lounge cascading through the house, I used my Edwin Jagger DE89, a precision-weighted, handcrafted work of art from Sheffield in the United Kingdom. My current budget won’t allow for an American-made Rex Ambassador, so for the time being, I believe this finely honed specimen from the north of England may, in fact, be my favorite so far.

Yes, ‘works of art’ can cost a few coins, and there is definitely a small investment upfront. But these razors are meant to last! Some older gents pass them on to family members as heirlooms. (Did I mention that you can get a 50-pack of Feather blades from Japan for 15 bucks?)

And the crème de la crème? Treating one’s face to a soothing aftershave balm as well as an aftershave lotion. In the case of the latter, from an Italian company that has been around since 1948. When I emerge from the bathroom after shaving, Donna will sometimes say, “Wow, you smell like a man!”

Fifteen minutes of grateful intent combined with appropriate tune-age. Sounds like a pretty decent way to help save the planet. Or, as #geofatboy would say on YouTube, “Have a great shave, have a great day!”