It's nearly impossible for me to listen to Tame Impala without thinking of the Beatles and getting a bit nostalgic about classic rock. On Innerspeaker, there's no shortage of psychedelic jams; Zeppelin, Hendrix are all invoked here. And surely some of the credit for this big "classic" sound is due to Flaming Lips producer David Fridmann. Remember that supposed garage rock revival in the early 00s? Tame Impala's high octane riffs and melodic vocals wouldn't have sounded out of place during this retro revival, but their Aussie rivals (i.e., the Vines) would have fled for the hills.
"Solitude is Bliss"
9. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs (Merge)
This record provided part of the soundtrack for my relocation to Edmonton. It was especially appropriate for the drive through Calgary (shudder). The Suburbs isn't perfect, but it has the kind of emotional energy that only Arcade Fire can provide. Thematically, it's also the group's most sophisticated record; sure, the ideas are big and obvious (that's kind of a given in pop music), but the Arcade Fire handle them with delicacy and nuance. (Read my initial review.)
"Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)"
8. Joanna Newsom - Have One on Me (Drag City)
With every release, Joanna Newsom becomes more surprising and less compromising. That being said, Have One on Me is more relaxed and refined than both Ys and The Milk-Eyed Mender. When the drums kick in on the effortless, swaggering "Soft as Chalk," for example, Newsom seems unsurpassable in her coolness. She steals a few octave jumps from Joni Mitchell, clumsily pounding the ivory like every great folk artist before her. By now, it seems inappropriate to even question her place among the finest of folk-singers.
"81"
7. Future Islands - In Evening Air (Thrill Jockey)
Over the last six months Sam Herring has become one of my favourite vocalists. Channelling Frank Black, Carey Mercer, and Ian Curtis, Herring's ecstatic growl cuts against up-tempo beats and new wave ornaments. Amounting to nine tracks in under forty mintues, In Evening Air is a punchy record, as affective as it is economical. (It also doesn't hurt that In Evening Air boasts some of the best album artwork of the year.) Musically, Herring & co. demonstrate plenty of range (from the angsty "Tin Man" to the hopeful, introspective "Swept Inside"), and the emotional drive that sustains this album (which rests heavily on Herring's vocal maneuvers and the chugging basslines) never feels forced or contrived.
"Tin Man"
6. Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest (4AD)
2008's Microcastle seemed like a big leap for Deerhunter (a leap that ended up being my favourite of the year); on Halcyon Digest, the band's feet are firmly planted. The ambient diversions and transitions have all but disappeared. Instead, we get a more diverse display of Deerhunter's best qualities. At times it's a pretty heavy record: mortality, aging, and transcendence are, as usual, heavily mined themes. Bradford Cox still seems preoccupied with obscure stories of religious affectation ("Revival" and "Helicopter"), while secondary songwriter Lockett Pundt aims for arena-rock with "Desire Lines." Cox & co. have yet to disappoint with their songwriting, but it's the stylistic moves and the instrumental additions (like the wicked saxophone solo on "Coronado") that make Halcyon Digest a great record.
"Desire Lines"
5. Beach House - Teen Dream (Sub Pop)
Sometimes its a good thing that music puts you to sleep. On Teen Dream, Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally practically pull open the covers and crawl into bed with you. When this album leaked early last spring, I made sure to keep it circulating through my stereo. Nearly every song could be a single and nearly every song could make for a great cover by a children's choir (please do yourself a favour and check out "Zebra," sung by the P22 Chorus). No record this year was as soft around the edges, as warm or as comforting. Teen dreams make for the best kind of nostalgia; Beach House present them with all of emotion and none of the regret.
"Norway"
4. The National - High Violet (4AD)
I like to imagine that The National's frontman Matt Beringer is the Don Draper of the indie rock world. It works on a few levels. Both dudes manage to embody a sadness that's not only believable, but attractive; they're both solitary figures with family problems (see, for example, the heart-wrenching "Lemonworld") and neither one is shy about his dependence on certain substances to make it through the day (and night). But the parallel breaks down just as easily. Beringer comes by his confessions honestly. Not only that, he's a sad dude you can actually relate to. I've given up wondering whether High Violet improves on 2007's Boxer, or even 2005's underrated Alligator. It may take less time to warm up to the National's new material than it used to be, but songs like "Anyone's Ghost," "Bloodbuzz Ohio," and the unbelievably epic "England," have serious staying power. And how can you not love I guy who confesses, "I was afraid I'd eat your brains"? I want to see this song ("Conversation 16") on The Walking Dead. I love albums that finish strong. High Violet ends as strongly as it begins. (Read my initial review.)
"England"
3. Menomena - Mines (Barsuk)
No one sounds quite like Menomena; but somehow Menomena manage to sound like almost everyone. Paradox! Well, it might be if I didn't have qualify it so much. But the point still stands. Menomena dwell in contradiction, and it appears they're quite suited for it. Brent Knopf's slight vocals appear pinned against massive walls of sound, while the rich baritones of Danny Seim and Justin Harris are just as often laid bare. If this is music for the end of the world, why do these guys insist fighting the forces of darkness with the weapon's of a bygone era? Why do they keep singing about religion when it's just as dead as everything else? Those familiar tropes keep popping up, and just as often, Menomena go for boldly sentimental choruses, with equal parts squealing guitar rawk and booming choral chant. With three brilliant multi-instrumentalist songwriters working together, Menomena's music is always more than the sum of its parts, and the songs on Mines move around so much you never know quite where you'll end up. (Read my initial review.)
"Lunchmeat"
2. Balmorhea - Constellations (Western Vinyl)
Thank God for this album. For most of the semester it was the only music I could study to. But classifying it as "study music" sells it short. Constellations is an achingly beautiful hybrid of southern folk and classical arrangements; imagine a cross between dust-bowl sounds of Gillian Welch and the careful precision of the French pianist, Debussy. It's the only instrumental album on my list, but the fourth album by this band from Austin, Texas seemed like a special discovery this past year and I'm grateful for the composure it offered during the long autumn months. There's nothing immediately jawdropping here; instead Balmorhea strive for slow-building understatement while staying true to their southern beginnings. Perhaps this strange fusion explains why these carefully arranged Constellations sound so warm and inviting.
"Bowspirit"
1. Women - Public Strain (Flemish Eye / Jagjaguwar)
Women had a mixed year. After releasing their second album to critical acclaim, the band made headlines for self-destructing on stage at show in Victoria, BC. I had tickets for their show in Edmonton the following weekend. I've never had to return tickets and I never expected that I'd have to do so because a band broke up the week before I was supposed to see them. By this point in November, I knew Public Strain was my favourite album of the year. It may be odd to say for an album this noise-y, but this was my go-to album when I felt stressed out during the past semester. Like the snow storm featured on their album cover (totally surrounding its victims, making for poor visibility), Women smother their surf-guitar pop in dissonant feedback. That might have been too obvious, but I'd add that Women's musical blizzard is the kind of storm you take comfort in. At times Public Strain feels like the musical equivalent of wearing beer-goggles: disorienting, disconcerting, and kind of fun. Like the best experimental art-rockers (seriously, Sonic Youth, just quit and pass the torch to these guys; the same goes for No Age), Women make you work for those melodies; there's some digging to do here, but when you find that golden chord it feels new every time. I'm looking forward to their reunion tour. (Read my initial review.)
The World Cup is over and the NHL's regular season doesn't get underway until the end of September. For those of us starved of competition and (mostly) apathetic about sports, pop-culture lists and rankings are soothing supplement for the ego. Most of the time these lists don't amount to much; there are no medals or ribbons or bouquets the getting top spot; but every so often, a list emerges where there's actually something at stake. Yes, I'm talking about the Polaris Prize (winner announced September 20) and the Mercury Prize (winner announced September 7) short lists.
It's time, I think, for some speculation.
The Polaris Prize shortlist:
The Besnard Lakes - The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night
Broken Social Scene - Forgiveness Rock Record
Caribou - Swim
Karkwa - Les Chemins de Verre
Dan Mangan - Nice, Nice, Very Nice
Owen Pallett - Heartland
Radio Radio - Belmundo Regal
The Sadies - Darker Circles
Shad - TSOL
Tegan and Sara - Sainthood
Who am I rooting for here? Well, the only albums I've really concentrated on here are Owen Pallet's Heartland, Caribou's Swim, and a bit of Broken Social Scene's Forgiveness Rock Record. I've liked what I've heard from Karkwa and was moderately pleased with The Besnard Lakes Are The Roaring Night (it's not quite up their with ...Are The Dark Horse). Both Pallet and Caribou's Snaith have already picked up this award, so I'd have to go with Karkwa, or Dan Mangan because of all the Kurt Vonnegut quotes in his liner notes. But I expect this to go to Broken Social Scene and I sort of hope it doesn't.
The Mercury Prize shortlist:
The xx - xx
Wild Beasts - Two Dancers
Mumford & Sons - Sigh No More
Foals - Total Life Forever
Laura Marling - I Speak Because I Can
Corinne Bailey Rae - The Sea
I Am Kloot - Sky At Night
Paul Weller - Wake Up The Nation
Dizzee Rascal - Tongue N' Cheek
Kit Downes Trio - Golden
Biffy Clyro - Only Revolutions
Villagers - Becoming A Jackal
Obviously, I'm rooting for Wild Beasts. Two Dancers was my favourite album of 2009 and I think they're the most interesting act on this list. However, it'll be a shocker if The xx fail to take it. I enjoyed their debut as well, but thought it a bit overhyped. I've recently become a fan of the artist least likely to win (Villagers) and had an opportunity to review Becoming a Jackal for Stylus. It's been getting mixed reviews but I think it deserves it's place on the list. I'll be posting my review here in the near future.
I'm sure there'll be more speculation to come. I love sports.
+ + +
Finally, to all who've been intrigued by my excessive posting about Menomena's new album, Mines, but for some reason or another have not been able to hear it, you have a limited opportunity to stream the album in its entirity from NPR. No piracy-related guilt - just pure awesome.
I was recently asked for my favourites of the year so far. If you're like me, being asked a question like this is easy bait. We're only just past the half-way point and it didn't take long for me to ramble off a smattering of albums I've really been enjoying. Unsurprisingly, I've already written about most of them on this blog.
Balmorhea - Constellations A strange fusion of familiar sounds, this group of musicians from Texas have produced a stunning album of classically minded instrumental folk-music that is profoundly affective and moving. There's just something about the combination of a banjo, a small orchestra and a kickdrum that ties my stomach up in knots. Constellations may end up being my album of the year. See my review. Menomena - Mines I've written of this album extensively. It's not even officially out yet, but already I've listened to and thought about Mines more than anything else released this year. It helps to have a few pals that are as captivated by Menomena's way with composition and melody. It also might have helped that I've been reading Dante's Divine Comedy ("Killemall") and Moby Dick ("BOTE"). See my reviews. The National - High Violet The National came alive for me with High Violet. Sure, I was a fan of Boxer and Alligator. But something about Matt Beringer's melancholy seems more realized on the new album. I think it's their best album and you'll be hard-pressed to find a better executed rock record this year (unless it's by Menomena, but, then again, I've got another five months to back up that claim). It probably helped that I had become a huge fan of Mad Men in the mean time. See my review. Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me Could this be Newsom's most straight-forward album? It's certainly her most consistent. And when you consider that it's a triple album (!), it's hard not to call it her best. Lyrically, she's still full of wit and an attention to diction that's rarely found in most contemporary songwriters. I love hearing moments borrowed from Joni Mitchell, as well as great accompaniment. Newsom has done something excessive and audacious (arguably moreso than with Ys.) and has once again miraculously avoided falling flat on her face. Lord knows, that's what anyone else would have done.
The above are the cream of the crop, in my opinion. Below is my long list, in no particular order.
Surfer Blood - Astro Coast These New Puritans - Hidden Toro Y Moi - Causers of This Crystal Castles - II Frog Eyes - Paul's Tomb: A Triumph Future Islands - In Evening Air Gorillaz - Plastic Beach Beach House - Teen Dream Tara Jane O'Neill - A Ways Away The Morning Benders - Big Echo Caribou - Swim Ariel Pink - Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffitti Owen Pallett - Heartland Shearwater - The Golden Archipelago
What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? (from High Fidelity)
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, another stupid holiday that, like Halloween, made more sense when I was seven than it does now: handing out my cheap, superhero-themed Valentine's cards at school and carefully preparing my own special Valentine's card receptacle like the rest my classmates. I could get behind that.
These days, the obvious thing to do is make a list of my favourite break-up songs. Some are laughable, others are frightening, but all of them share the same heaping spoonful of self-pity. 1. Here - Pavement "And I'm the only one who laughs / at your jokes when they are so bad / and your jokes are always bad / but they're not as bad as this." 2. Divorce Song - Liz Phair "I would have stayed in your bed / For the rest of my life / Just to prove I was right / That it's harder to be friends than lovers / And you shouldn't try to mix the two / Cause if you do it and you're still unhappy / Then you know that the problem is you / And its true that I stole your lighter / And its also true that I lost the map / But when you said that I wasn't worth talking to / I had to take your word on that." 3. Nobody's Fault But My Own - Beck "And on the day you said it's true / Some love holds, some gets used / Tried to tell you I never knew / It could be so sweet / Who could ever be so cruel, / Blame the devil for the things you do / It's such a selfish way to lose / The way you lose these wasted blues / These wasted blues."
4. I Don't Want To Get Over You - Magnetic Fields "I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist / and not have to dream of what I dream of; I could listen / to all my friends and go out again and pretend it's enough, / or I could make a career of being blue."
5. Rid of Me - PJ Harvey "You're not rid of me . . . . Till you say don't you wish you never never met her." 6. Pink Triangle - Weezer "When I think I've found a good old-fashioned girl / Then she put me in my place / If everyone's / a little queer / Can't she be a little straight?"
8. Cato As A Pun - Of Montreal "I can't even pretend that you are my friend / What has happened to you and I / And don't say that I have changed / 'Cause man, of course I have" 9. Get Gone - Fiona Apple "You got your game, made your shot, and you got away / With a lot, but I'm not turned-on / So put away that meat you're selling." 10. Forever For Her (Is Over For Me) - White Stripes "I blew it / And if I knew what to do, then I'd do it / But the point that I have, I'll get to it / And forever for her is over for me / Forever, just the word that she said that means never / To be with / another together / And with the weight of a feather it tore into me" (Honourary Mention) An Ode To No One - Smashing Pumpkins "I took a virgin mary axe to his sweet baby jane, / lost my innocence to a no good girl, scratch my / face with anvil hands, and coil my tongue around a bumblebee mouth /And I give it all back to you." Alright Billy. I'm sure it all makes sense in your head.
This time of year is always dominated by lists, rankings, and evaluations. This blog is clearly no exception. How appropriate, then, to stumble upon this entertaining interview with the Italian semiotician/man of letters Umberto Eco. Among other things, Eco explains how lists gesture towards the infinite and move beyond our human deficiences to help us stave off death. Lists always indicate more; they are both reductive (imposing order on chaos) and excessive/anarchic (they lead to more lists, expanding and transforming old definitions).
So why is Eco so interested in lists? "I can't really say," he admits, "I like lists for the same reason other people like football or pedophilia. People have their preferences."
No alarms and no surprises...Kid A is my favourite album of the decade. I expound below. Here's what the rest of my list looks like. Follow the (highlighted) links to the write-ups. There are some recent additions here that I haven't had time to properly address. Oh well. Maybe next decade.
1. Radiohead - Kid A (Parlaphone/Capitol, 2000), Amnesiac (Parlaphone/Capitol, 2001), Hail to the Thief (Parlaphone/Capitol, 2003), In Rainbows (2007)
Here we are at the top (sort of). Kid A is my favourite album of the decade, but if I'm going take the decade seriously, I can't ignore the rest of their out put. Amnesiac, for example, followed quickly after Kid A and is a product of the same creative peak. Though a weaker album, Hail to the Thief was certainly a big event for me: for a while my entire universe seemed to revolve around that release date; and In Rainbows was a triumphant return to form and a revitalization of the band's sound, now inseparable from the minor stir it caused in the online music world.
Everybody's already pontificated on the significance of Kid A (both in terms of musical innovation and its relevance to the end of physical media). Oddly enough this was my first Radiohead album and so I didn't really have a prior relationship with the band's 90s output. I knew Radiohead were important for a variety of reasons, but as for "Radiohead trying not to sound like Radiohead" and the other postmodern claims that accompanied this album, they were over my head and, to be honest, I just wasn't interested at the time.
I loved Kid A not for the statement it was supposed to be making, not because of where it fit into the band's output, not because it represented the "death of rock 'n' roll" or because it nearly broke up the band; I loved it because it introduced me to a new world of sound and music, I loved it because of its sheer beauty, its ambient textures ("Treefingers"), the manufactured purity of Thom Yorke's vocals (especially on the title track), the urgency, energy, but also the simplicity of songs like of "Ideoteque" and "National Anthem." I identified with the dreams of solitude on "How to Disappear Completely," but also with the social/evolutionary angst of "Optimistic." How could an album be so many different things all at once?
Another bit of subtext: I bought this album right before departing for a trip to England. For the three weeks we were there, this cd did not leave my discman. What did I care if it was raining, if the sun refused to shine? I had Radiohead to keep me company. Listening to "In Limbo" while wandering through the crowds of Heathrow still stands out to me ("You're living in a fantasy. . . I'm lost at sea, don't bother me, I've lost my way"). I remember buying a magazine with the cover headline: "Cheer Up! Here Comes Radiohead."
A smaller part of Kid A's brilliance lies in the absence of any liner notes. The album booklet is made up of more art by Stanley Donwood, and so listening (for me) became a far more interesting process of interpretation; you can hear one line in a variety of ways. "Ideoteque," is a good example. At first, "Here I'm alive...everything all at a time," then I started to hear "Here I'm alone...everything all at a time" and finally it became clear that Yorke was probably singing "Here I'm allowed everything all of the time." Okay, so it's not that profound. But I love how disorienting Kid A makes the solitary listening experience. There's something comforting about it.
Kid A has plenty of cultural significance, but in the end, it's important and appealing because it's a beautiful work of art that asks difficult questions evades easy answers. It's simply an album that I'll never tire of.
We're nearing the end. I've only got a few more albums left. Just so we're clear: the following are my top 5 albums of the decade that are not by Radiohead. That post will come later. Yeah, it's gonna be a long one.
5. Sonic Youth - Murray Street (Geffen, 2002) From one of my favourite summers. A family trip to Vancouver. At this point in my musical education I was relatively unfamiliar with Sonic Youth. Of course I knew of them. I'd heard "Teenage Riot," I think; I new they belonged to the alternative/underground scene in the 90s, but was largely unaware of their earlier achievements. We were at Vancouver's Virgin Megastore and I bought three or four albums: The White Stripes' White Blood Cells, the best of Bowie and Sonic Youth's Murray Street.
What led me to buy Murray Street had little to do with the music at that point. It was the mysterious aura of Sonic Youth, but also the absolutely beautiful album cover. I probably listened to it 20 times in my discman on the way home. Perfect for a summer drive on the transcanada highway. "The Empty Page" and "Rain on Tin" gave me a new appreciation for instrumental breaks and the mood-shifting possibilities of the electric guitar. It was the beginning of my relationship with Sonic Youth. Since then I've accumulated most of their catalogue, but Murray Street continues to standout as one of their best.
4. Cat Power - You Are Free (Matador, 2003) I was proud of this album. I don't think there's another cd that I've managed to convince so many people to buy. Funny to recall that I came across it in a Rolling Stone magazine, reviewed and praised (I think Kurt Cobain was mentioned in a passing reference to the opener, "I Don't Blame You." This was, at that time, an easy way to grab my attention). I downloaded the neo-grungey "He War" and the understated "Fool" and was determined to find and buy this album. What a discovery! I'd found the perfect voice, and an equally brilliant songwriter. Since then, Chan Marshall hasn't come close to the depth of feeling ("Good Woman") or the inventiveness ("Free") of You Are Free. I'm probably too critical, but it's hard to over-emphasize how much I love this album.
You Are Free is inextricably linked to my last years in Winkler, those midnight bike rides, the isolation of life in a small town. The tragedy explored in a song like "Names" seemed so appropriate for growing through adolescence and watching kids you knew get into drugs, into unfair situations from which escape seemed impossible. I used the song "Shaking Paper" in a movie I made for my high school art class, playing overtop clips of a friend of mine riding my mom's ten speed down Park Street. The rest of the movie was brutal, but that combination seemed to work pretty well. Unlike the rest of this list, this is an album I think just about every (except my friend DeLayne) could like.
3. Interpol - Turn on the Bright Lights (Matador, 2002) It's impossible to listen to this album and not feel like you're the shit. Everything about it exudes coolness and an overtly masculine type of confidence. The sort of confidence that's embodied in italian suits and expensive cigarettes (think Mad Men).
When Interpol arrived with this album, it seemed like every critic on the planet was buying into the hype. The dark style of Joy Division without the devastation. No, these songs went somewhere ("The New," for example, jumps all over the place; from a gritty guitar breakdown stolen from the Pixies, to spacey jazz scales that bring to mind early Modest Mouse). They were almost arena-ready, but back then the thought of these guys playing into something so vulgar was unthinkable. "Untitled" might be the opening track of the decade because its so instantly headturning, so absorbing and so undeniably poised to kick ass and take names; it prepares you for the post-punk epic that's about to unfold.
Interpol's more recent material has suffered in part because it the sinister atmosphere of Turn On the Bright Lights has all but disappeared. From the somber baritone of Paul Banks to intricate guitar work of Daniel Kessler and the rhytmic, almost frenzied bass playing of Carlos Dengler, Interpol made the most of every track on their nearly flawless debut.
2. TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain (Interscope, 2006) The year should have belonged to TV on the Radio. They certainly released the most captivating album, an album full of conflict, with disparity built into very fabric of songs like "Wash The Day" and "Playhouses." Get ready for a big, generalizing statement: If there's a band, a sound, for this particular moment time, it has to be TV on the Radio.
I know this is all going to sound ridiculous, unnecessarily academic and a little bit arrogant, but I've always thought of TVOTR as a post-colonial band, not simply because of the diversity of their internal make-up, but because of how their music dialogues with the Afro-American music tradition, the way it brings old and new sounds together, and into conflict. Like the political criticism of the late Edward Said and Homi K. Bhaba, the music of TVOTR destabilizes dominant (musical) discourses, challenges our inherent assumptions about collective identity and the presumption about of war and peace; in short, it interrogates the ingrained legacies of colonialism. It's music that makes you think, even as you dance your way into its apocalyptic abandon. As David Bowie, who guests on "Province," well knows, few acts making music today are this vital and this provocative.
1. Modest Mouse - The Moon & Antarctica (Epic, 2000) I'm undecided as to whether this is Modest Mouse's best album. The Lonesome Crowded West (1997) is right up there, but The Moon & Antarctica was my first Modest Mouse album and, as we pop music obsessors well know, nostalgia always wins out in debates over artistic value. And besides, who among us can resist "Paper Thin Walls"?
I bought this album on a trip. I'm pretty sure it was for a baseball tournament. When I brought it to the counter at one of those hole in the wall record stores (the kind that used find their way into every single mall, the kind that are by now almost extinct), the clerk looked at me, appearing to be caught off guard, (I'm pretty sure I was in uniform) and said with a chuckle, "Whoa man, this is some good stuff." Back then, there wasn't much that made me happier than the validation of a record store clerk. It felt like I'd broken into a secret club. That baseball tournament was simply a means to an end.
The entire aesthetic of this album (from the artwork and its colour to the haunting atmospherics and Isaac Brock's existentialist lyrics) seemed of a piece. Another great response to suburban life in the midwest, the alienation of individuals amidst our society's love affair with technology, cheap entertainment and thoughtless consumption ("Different City," as well as "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes," are the best examples of this).
The Moon & Antarctica is an unflinching look at the darkest corners of Brock's consciousness: his tortured isolation and his skewed view of reality (see "Alone Down There"). "The Stars Are Projectors" is the album's centre-piece. At almost nine minutes, it seems to sum things up pretty well: it's disturbing and affecting, at once cosmic in scope and terribly personal ("It's built on findin' the easier ways through / God is a woman and the woman is / An animal that animals man, and that's you / Was there a need for creation?/ That was hidden in a math equation/ And that's this: where do the circles begin?" ). Intriguing, no?
I'm running out of time, so my musical navel-gazing won't be as drawn out as it has been in every other "albums of the decade" entry. I haven't even gotten to my top five yet! Stay tuned.
Deerhunter - Microcastle (Kranky, 2008)
I can understand how Deerhunter aren't the easiest band to like. Their albums are cumbersome and at times sound half-baked: you usually have to wade through several tracks of disconnected noise before getting to something really exciting. Fair enough.
Microcastle was my favourite album of last year. In my mind, nothing came close to the ambition and execution of Deerhunter's second album of shoegazey guitar rock. It's a beautiful and engrossing listen start to finish; the soundscapes are perfect for a walk in the snow. This album came out in the fall of last year and it was my album of choice for those long walks to work, snow crunching underfoot, flakes falling from the sky. It reminded me a lot of early Smashing Pumpkins (moments on Gish, but particulalry Pisces Iscariot), so of course I was immediately obsessed.
It isn't enough to say that Microcastle rewards dedicated listening. It's a sprawling piece of guitar rock revelation, where everything seems to fit together. Seamlessly paced, Microcastle is driven by a nostalgic love affair with feedback and melody. Beginning with the soothing "Cover Me (Slowly)," Deerhunter’s lazy euphoria finally stumbles into the broken chords of "Activa." But just when Bradford Cox appears to lose his steam, Deerhunter launch into "Nothing Ever Happened," an impossible epic about drugs that explodes into an all-out prog-jam.
Another thing I appreciate about Deerhunter is that they always leave enough room on their albums for the "come down;" although their biggest moments are inspiring, it's the way they handle the aftermath that's a real testament to their artistry. Following the massive climax of "Nothing Ever Happened," the psych throwbacks "Saved By Old Times" and "These Hands" are comfy matresses on which to land: the first is an ode to the past, while the latter describes the dangers of inaction, on growing old and becoming ineffective. Deerhunter offer a world of to get lost in. Yeah there's drugs, but one thing is certain: once Microcastle draws you inside, there’s no getting out.
Menomena - Friend and Foe (Barsuk, 2007)
Friend and Foe is a deceptive straighforward album; at first, it sounds like inventive indie-rock, but sooner or later one begins to notice the careful composition, the openings for new sounds and rhythms, the way each song flows into the next, the thoughtful lyrics, the confusion of sacred and profane and the quality of production. Destined to be overlooked, this was an album that kept revealing something new with each listen. I love bands that use the saxophone well (see TV on the Radio) and are this conscious of different rythmic sounds and patterns; I love Menomena.
The brilliant "Rotten Hell" has become a darkly satisfying sing along for my friends and I, while a song like "The Pelican," which again brings to mind TV on the Radio for its carefully exposed aggression (the wild vocals), and the way it nearly spins out of control, has only become more interesting because I've recently learned that the pelican is part of a symbolic tradition in Christian art. It's meant to represent Christ's sacrifice: there is a myth that, in order to feed its young, the mother bird turns her head inward to pierce her own breast; the blood spills and the young are fed. I'm pretty sure, this isn't what the songs supposed to be about, but with that explanation in mind, that screamed line, which recurrs through out the song ("Take it!") seems strangely appropriate.
The songs on Friend and Foe seem divinely inspired and then beautfully and blasphemously deconstructed. It's only three guys! How do they do it?
Grizzly Bear - Yellow House (Warp, 2006)
Unlike this year's Veckatimest (see my "Top 20 Albums of 2009"), Yellow House isn't really a pop album. It has moments, sure, but the songs that do emerge from these folkey soundscapes have more in common with prog-rock than pop music. I'm probably overstating the case. Yellow House is, like all their work, full of choirboy vocals, instrumental sophistication and haunting atmospheres. Their sound is all that unique anymore, but no one does it better than Grizzly Bear and I, for one, am glad they're finally getting the attention they deserve, whether it comes from some anonymous blogger or from Jay-Z.
I first encountered Grizzly Bear through a mix my sister sent me while I was out treeplanting in B.C. "On a Neck, On a Spit" was the song she included and it blew me away: epic and uplifting, it finally erupts into a tight acoustic love song ("each day spend it with you, all my time spend it with you..."). From that moment on I held a lot of anticipation for the release of their second album, Yellow House, scheduled to arrive that autumn. On first listen, I was a bit let down; this wasn't like the song I'd spent my summer listening to: it was slow, brooding, eerie and depressing (see the mid-album waltz "Maria," which seems like it was meant for a Paul Thomas Anderson movie). Suffice it to say, it wasn't long till I had completely immersed myself in songs like "Colorado" (another waltz built around a grand piano) and "Lullaby."
Seeing them open for TV on the Radio in Fargo, ND solidified my love for this band. Not only were they studio wizards, they know their instruments like experts and sing together like intimates. Veckatimest may have been overhyped but it continues their winning streak. It's still safe to say, "No One Does it Better."
PJ Harvey - Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea (Island, 2000)
With her sixth album, Polly Jean Harvey came dangerously close to that refined musical wasteland called adult contemporary. This was her album to be "all grown up," to flirt with her maturity and the polished sounds of the studio. Even her more abrasive songs ("This is Love" and "Kamikazee") feel watered down and somewhat drained of their sexual energy. That said, Harvey has never sounded this confident in her ability as a musician, and it's unlikely that she ever will again. Ever the shape-shifter, Harvey's most cosmopolitan persona coincided nicely with the beginning of our new, self-consciously global millenium. It's no wonder the album was awarded the Mercury Prize the following year; it seems to capture some of the romance, the ambivalence of urban life at the beginning of the decade. I mean, I was only 12 at the time, but I sensed it. So mature for my age and all.
To be honest, it took me until 2004 to buy this album. By this point in time, I was well into my longstanding obsession with Peej; and even then, four years after its release, Stories... felt current. "Good Fortune" is one reason for this; it's quite simply a song to fall in love with. Another reason that Stories... still sounds so fresh is Harvey's almost timeless songwriting and her ability to inhabit characters from a wide historical spectrum (see 1995's To Bring You My Love or 2007's White Chalk). But as Harvey sings on "A Place Called Home," "Now is the time to follow through, to read the signs. Now the message is sent, let's bring it to its final end." She's still acting, of course, but this time she isn't playing a repressed Victorian or a prostitute from the deep South. This time round, it hits a bit closer home.
There are plenty more high points on Stories.... A stirring duet with Radiohead's Thom Yorke ("This Mess We're In") is definitely one of them. Like many of the tracks on this album, Harvey's lyrics on "This Mess..." show an awareness of the cityscape and her place within it, taking care to frame her own point of view. "You Said Something" is probably the most cheerful love song Harvey's ever written (given that the vast majority of her songs about love are brutally violent and sexually perverse; it's her schtick). This one turns out to be about a couple of ex-pats on a romantic excursion in Manhatten. Pretty great! But the album ends two completely depressing songs: "Horses in My Dreams," which is a bit of a dirge, and "We Float," which advises us to "take life as it comes" because "one day, we'll float." Is she talking about escaping to heaven? Or about drowing in a massive flood? Either way, I think she covers the same ground as Modest Mouse's 2003 sing-along, "Float On." I always thought she was more of fighter. And I'm glad she's bounced back.
No commemorative decade-ending music list would be complete without at least a nod to Sufjan Stevens, who, in his current state of musical/identity confusion, confessed that the "50 States Project," which seemed to preface everything anyone ever wrote about him, was an elaborate marketing ploy. A joke that most of his admirers defended: "Sure he can do it. Sufjan Stevens can do anything!" That wasn't me, by the way. Well, maybe at first.
As a testament to the man's uniquely ambitious vision, Paste Magazine named Illinois the album of the decade. A bit of a surprise, but then again Paste has never tried/succeeded in being representative with their lists. Illinois was (and still is) my favourite album of 2005. It was everything I'd hoped it could be (from the chilling portrait of "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." to the crisis of faith in "Casimir Pulaski Day," the cool swagger of "Jacksonville," the family-trip nostaligia of "Decatur, Or, Round of Applause for your Stepmother!" and "The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts," which weaves in and out of tender folk harmonies and garage rock in the most inspiring way); and it also helped that my summer highlight was a family road trip to Chicago. Calling it epic doesn't really do it justice. But even after the universe had seemingly aligned in the summer of 2005, I still find that, when push comes to shove, I'm more partial to Seven Swans. Listening straight through the bells and whistles of Michigan, and especially Illinois, is like consuming too much sugar. Stevens is, I think, best without all the pomp. Sure he's a talented and inspired composer. Sure he went for something massive (the life, the history, the feeling of two huge American states) and surpassed our expectations of what a theologically sensitive indie-folk artist could accomplish in 70 minutes. But even so, if I'm going to be honest about my own listening experience, Seven Swans has always impressed me more. It's still weird and surprising; it's more overtly relgious, eerier and sparser: it's an album I have to listen to all the way through every time.
In my second year at university, I used to put on "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands" when I had to wait for bus on Sunday mornings. It's an ideal song of preparation: a song about readying yourself for worship and communion. In fact, I'm pretty sure if I was teaching a class on theology and worship (which will certainly never happen), I'd include this on the syllabus. "In the Devil's Territory" is another song about orienting ourselves and opening our hearts; and if I was ever teaching Kierkegaard (another highly unprobable reality), I'd definitely include "Abraham," through which Stevens hauntingly recasts Abraham's near-sacrifice of his son, Isaac: Kierkegaard's illustration to prove his point about a "teleogical suspension of the ethical" that brought about by a truly religious calling. Probably the two most affecting songs for me, "Sister" and "We Won't Need Legs to Stand," resonate because of their hopefulness, their acceptance and assurance of healing through broken relationships and physical disadvantages.
Stevens has always drawn comparisons to literary figures. The great Catholic writer Flannery O'Connor, with whom Stevens wisely positions himself, is an obvious influence, with her emphasis on the grotesque, her unflinching exploration of human and divine violence: someone who employs Christian mechanisms in her narratives without cheapening or sentimentalizing them. But I think Stevens also shares some similarity with the metaphysical poets of early modern England (Donne, Herbert, Marvell, etc.). To ask a question like, "What do these songs have to say about religion?" is wrong from the get-go. Stevens isn't commenting on the Christian faith: he's actually working out his own salvation in his music. This isn't some abstract theoretical exploration: the debate is performed and embodied through his music.
Michigan was Stevens' third album, a tribute to his home state. It features one of Stevens' most beautiful songs, "For the Widow in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti," but it also contains a lot of pain, for as many well know, Michigan is a broken state, weighed down by poverty ("Flint (For the Unemployed and Underpaid"), and an economy hollowed out by corporate interest ("The Upper Peninsula"). It's a good companion to Michael Moore's wry documentary, Roger and Me, but I think Steven's songs ring truer. Maybe it's because he still unabashedly hopeful.
Sleater-Kinney - One Beat (Kill Rock Stars, 2002) - The Woods (Sub Pop, 2005)
Sleater-Kinney was a great band. They might even have been the best band. Suffice it to say, I was pretty sad when I heard they'd broken up. When I first discovered this all female group from Olympia, WA, it was in the pages of a music magazine commemorating the best albums of the 90s. Because of this lame introduction I've always associated them with that decade, but, looking back now, it seems to me that Sleater-Kinney had an even stronger run in the 00s. They kicked off this decade with All Hands on the Bad One (2000), a revitalized return to form after the more introspective Hot Rock (1999). They've got an intensity -a sense of urgency in their delivery- that only bolsters their (sometimes cringworthy) social criticism. With Janet Weiss on drums, Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein trading vocals and guitars, Sleater-Kinney proved to be one of the heaviest (and most exciting) indie bands in America for nearly two decades.
But it was their impassioned response to 9/11 and the Bush administration, One Beat, that really broke them for me. "Combat Rock" is still, to my mind, the best cry of dissent an American band could conjure in post-9/11 America: "Show your love for your country: go out and spend some cash!" Other great moments include the anthemic "O2," which explores escapism and the environment, and "Oh!," which may be the album's standout track: a catchy battle cry that's one part doo-wop, one part arena punk. At the beginning of the decade, it seemed like every album was either a commemorative response or a sign of respect for the American ideal. In most cases, it was nauseating, but out of that mess of sentimentality and patriotism came Sleater-Kinney, a politically relevant band that refused easy comforts and pushed itself to craft some of the finest garage-punk of the decade.
Equally fuelled by a spirit of dissent, The Woods displays Sleater-Kinney at the height of their musical powers. Here, the band shows it's still driven to experiment, but rocking hard is the biggest priority. With fantastic production (a fuller sound and no shortage of feedback) perfectly suited to Sleater-Kinney's aggressive approach, The Woods proved to be the band's most accessible (and arguably their finest) album. The power of its blistering opener -"The Fox"- still blows me away, while a song like "Modern Girl," one of the band's most memorable melodies, will never get old.
The first time I heard the Books was on a compilation that came with the first annual "music issue" from a magazine called the Believer. The song was "There Is No There," the seventh track on the Books' second album. I'd never heard anything like it before. A diverse range of sounds: percussive everyday noises, excerpts from speeches, violin/cello fragments, meandering banjo lines, and a lot of looping. Occasionally a woman's voice (Ann Doener) breaks in with more conventional vocals, but such moments of clarity are rare. How does one begin to describe the Books? I've tried and failed many times, but I'll attempt it anyway.
When I first got a hold of this album I felt like I'd really happened upon something special, something unique and surprising. Each track on the The Lemon of Pink is more than the sum of its parts. Pop hooks seem to emerge from out of nowhere, yet you can't really put your finger on what's going on. The Lemon of Pink is notoriously difficult to pin down, and I think that's why I like it so much. Although you may have to accept that you don't really know what's going on, there's something very immediate about the emotional effect the songs on this album have. You can call the Books' approach collage, tapestry, or mosaic, but such metaphors seem immediately stale compared to the vitality of songs like "Tokyo" or "Don't Even Sing About It."
Still, "There Is No There" and "Take Time" are the best example of the group's ability to combine an assortment of sounds into truly affecting songs that feel as profound as they are weird and unconventional.
I can't stop posting! However, when you consider the stack of cds sitting in front of me right now, it soon becomes apparent that I've got my work cut out for me.
Constantines - Shine a Light (Three Gut Records, 2003)
The Constantines had a great decade. In fact, they’ve just celebrated their tenth year as a band and are still playing some of the most electrifying live shows in the country. They’ve got four solid albums of blue-collar rock n’ roll and, although they recently made a shift a new label (Arts and Crafts), the band shows no signs of slowing down. This band has staying power. Shine a Light is not only their heaviest album (this one’s debatable); it’s also their best (this one, not so much). This follow up to their self-titled debut stays true to the urgency of their punk roots, but Shine a Light has the honesty of a band well into its career, easily moving between diverse sounds and moods. There’s something unsettling about an album this angry and impassioned, yet so carefully refined and channelled into songs like the blistering title track. Then there’s that sprawling anthem, “Nighttime/Anytime (It’s Alright),” that harrowing “Insectivora,” in which Bryan Webb tells us in great detail how he’s “learning to survive.” Sure Webb can howl, but he’s really a tender soul. Take “Young Lions” or “On to You” or “Poison,” for example. Webb flips from his unrestrained social realism to romantic lines like “make your love too wild for words” ("Young Lions") or “When we dance the night belongs to us” ("Poison"). We, the adolescent hipsters of 2003, instantly melt.
I came to know this album when I was in my first year of university. A friend of mine gave me her cd; she didn’t really care for it, and I was obsessed with “Poison.” Like many, I was also intrigued by the band’s name, as my course in Christian history made a pretty big deal about Constantine. I always imagined they were sort of being ironic, but as I found out in an interview last year the band name has nothing at all to do with the historical figure who single-handedly made Christianity synonymous with the Western empire. Whether or not these guys will admit it, I still like to think the name has some theological significance.
The Weakerthans - Left and Leaving (G7 Welcoming Committee, 2000)
The Weakerthans don’t brag much, and maybe it’s inappropriate to throw around lofty titles like “Best Album of the Decade” in reference to one of their albums, but with all celebratory lists and tributes floating around these days, I can’t help myself so I’ll just say it: Left and Leaving, that understated collection of songs about life in Winnipeg might just be the best album that’s come out of Canada in the last decade. At the end of the year, when everyone's touting Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene as the “saviors of indie rock,” those of us who know and love the Weakerthans might also remember that, before the indie music media frenzy began, 2000 marked the release of the Weakerthans’ second album. You can’t get any better than reckless abandon of “Watermark,” the tenderness of “My Favourite Chords,” the inspiring “Pamphleteer,” and a title track so honest and reassuring it just might be reason enough to stay put. Full of well-crafted characters and all kinds of social subtleties, Left and Leaving is an album that’s both highly literate and unapologetically local. Not only do Samson, Tait, Carroll and Sutton give us a better understanding of Winnipeg (already quite a feat), their album invites each of us see one another and our city with new eyes. How’s that for zeitgeist?
It's nearly impossible for me to listen to Tame Impala without thinking of the Beatles and getting a bit nostalgic about classic rock. On Innerspeaker, there's no shortage of psychedelic jams; Zeppelin, Hendrix are all invoked here. And surely some of the credit for this big "classic" sound is due to Flaming Lips producer David Fridmann. Remember that supposed garage rock revival in the early 00s? Tame Impala's high octane riffs and melodic vocals wouldn't have sounded out of place during this retro revival, but their Aussie rivals (i.e., the Vines) would have fled for the hills. 
