Blowin' In The Wind

Burning Man Music For Dummies

2010-09-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

With Burning Man hitting Nevada right now, sapping San Francisco of half of its population (not to mention matching the cities' yearly drug usage in a week), those of us left here might be wondering what the big deal is. Don't get me wrong, anyone who has lived in San Francisco even a month probably has already developed enough of a closet-hippie instinct to appreciate the utopian principles and free-love doctrine of this annual event (that originated in our very own Baker Beach by a colony of nudists, might I add), whether we can afford the vacation time and money to go or not.

But when surrounded by a multitude of more immediately obvious incredible lineups from festivals littered all throughout summer, the sad fact of the matter is that, with the exception of The Crystal Method performing this year, many of the best musicians on Burning Man's bill are overlooked and overshadowed by the enormous amount of countless similar, but much more generic, acts. After all, many of the sub-genres featured at the festival rank among some of the easiest styles of music to make (Dubstep and Trance, I'm looking at you). Everybody and their grandmothers are getting a hold of free audio programs and making intoxicated young people dance.

Thankfully, Burning Man doesn't make music the primary appeal of the event, instead choosing to find its niche in costumes, art installations, pyrotechnics, acrobats and general bat-shit insanity. However, for the people who value music a little more than all of that combined and need a little more convincing to get their asses out to the desert next year, consider just this small handful of artists on the 2010 lineup who, for one reason or another, manage to separate themselves from the large pool of unidentifiable electronic drivel.

Rabbit in The Moon
Confucious and Bunny mix and match styles in an enveloping coat of swirly atmosphere, similar to Pretty Lights or any other number of modern DJ's that are beginning to blur the lines between various Electronic genres in super accessible ways. Their tracks are heavy in the sort of ghostly, swelling voice samples that you would find on countless downbeat compilations, but with a more rhythmic break-beat borrowed from Trance, Trip Hop and House. More importantly, their live shows include the sort of deranged fashion show that could have only come out of a state as strange as Florida, featuring everything from full body light suits and crowd-surfing body bubbles to fire playing belly dancers and...well...good luck finding the words to describe whatever this is.

Mimosa
If the first wave of Dubstep could be compared to the first wave of hip hop (minimal, primitive, kinda goofy, and innocent...see artists like Skream and Benga), then artists like Glitch Mob and Mimosa represent the "gangster-step" phase of the genre. Like Dr. Dre before him, Mimosa duels West coast attitude and modern technology off in intensely deep grooves, fat synths and instantly lovable hooks. Some of his songs share more in common with Flying Lotus (appropriate since this style of bass-driven beats came from the same region of LA) than with Rusko, complete with clipped up samples and jagged, stuttering percussion, but Mimosa manages to make that style of bass-driven beats in your face enough to work on the dance floor.

Treavor Moontribe
To outdoor festival junkies, Treavor Moontribe belongs to an elite class of people. One of the major founders and resident performers of the Moontribe Full Moon Gatherings, an all-night DJ event that takes place once a month in various scenic locations of So Cal, he's also spent 14 years perfecting his spacious soundtracks for deserts and snakelike progressive house and techno movements. The best way to listen to Treavor is to get lost in the hypnotic repetition of it all. His tracks drift slowly and change gradually enough to ease listeners into a gentle trance, but the creeping buildups have knee-shaking pay-offs - one of the organizers of The Moontribe Full Moon Gatherings recalls how he once witnessed a girl lose control of her bowels while watching Treavor perform.

Neurodriver
The human mind is basically an extremely complex and glorified super computer. We process and store information, receive and send electrical signals to get stuff done, and run tasks through pre-programmed processes (learned through repetition, the same way all of the programs on our computer were created). A common criticism of "laptop" music is that it requires no real instrumental talent, but once you realize that our minds work just like macs anyway, there's not much of a difference between learning the ins and outs of a computer program, and developing guitar or piano skills. The line is especially blurred when, all around us, technology is increasingly becoming extensions of ourselves. All too often, the phrase, "I feel naked without my cell phone," flutters above crowds, as if these mobile devices were appendages of ours. We interact with each other more and more each day through the internet, filling out Facebook profiles and pimping out webpages and blogs as if they were integral parts of our identities.

Artists like Neurodriver create music that reminds us of how we have helped technology evolve and how technology has influenced the way we are evolving, which is often a huge underlying theme of many Burning Man events and tents. This is the sort of electro-thrash that should be played while reading cyberpunk novels and pondering how much longer before cyborgs take over; think Amon Tobin reading a ton of Ghost in The Shell and then going to the clubs. Dancing may appear to be a human trait, but Neurodriver's plunging lockstep grooves and glitchy breakdowns make the mechanical nature of your body's movements and responses difficult to ignore. The same can be said of most Electronic music.

The entire Burning Man 2010 stage guide can be downloaded in pdf format from Rock Star Librarian’s awesomely useful website.

Electric Six - "Danger! High Voltage"

2010-07-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

Electric Six really wants everyone to know how dance music keeps starting fires. Fire in the disco, fire in the gates of hell, even fire in the taco bell (apparently)! As "Danger! High Voltage" compels you to give into that toe-tapping, booty-bumping fire with its funky guitars, steady hump-inducing bass and searing saxophone solo, you might start to realize that this single from seven years ago offered a pretty interesting meta-commentary on why dance music has always been one of the most prominent and common threads in popular music: at the heart of it all is sex. In the same way that songs with obvious lyrics about love sell like mad, so do songs with musical textures that force the body to replicate the movements, motions and groove of the dirtiest of private, two-person dances. Both love and lust are emotions that literally every single human being can relate to, and so, unsurprisingly, they're the most marketable.

If you find that hard to believe, look at the way dance trends gotten increasingly sexual in the past 30 to 40 years. Look at how the ass-shaking, rhythmic bass of disco (When the dance floor was just posing the question), the not-so-subtle innuendos of funk (Was there ever a moment where George Clinton wasn't standing on the verge of getting it on?) and the tenderly erotic grooves of soul (Isaac Hayes wants all the women to crowd around!) infiltrated pretty much everything in the aftermath of the 60's sexual revolution. Among other things, Prince made his name in the 80's telling his infamous story about Nikki while an (admittedly, more than likely unintended) obsession with masturbation seemed to bubble under the surface, with several chart-topping singles telling us to "beat it," "whip it," and "turn japanese".

Look at how instantly popular Nelly got when he decided to tap into the sub-conscious desire in all our minds and compel us to take off all our clothes when it starts to get too hot in the bars. Britney Spears began with her career a pretty enormous fan base by dressing as a scantily clad schoolgirl but insisting on a profile of innocence. She went on to tell us a year later, dressed in a skin-tight, hot red catsuit that she actually wasn't that innocent, tripling her audience. Finally she was barely wearing anything, saying that she was a slave for us, resulting in a tenfold audience increase and making even critics praise her club-friendly singles. Plus, there's freak-dancing, which is basically an excuse to dry-hump in public. One can go on and on, but the bottom line is that there's a fire at the heart of how easily the public falls for these and "it's our desire".

There's a danger here, of course. How far into depravity and overt hypersexuality will we go? The way the two main characters of the music video in question have been joined by a taxidermied Moose by the end seems to suggest the possibility of our cultural obsession with sex breaching and embracing fetishism in the near future. We've already fully integrated mysogyny into most popular hip hop and when someone like Soulja Boy tells us to "Superman that ho" he gets huge. And how else, in this context, has something as abrasive, rough and filthy as Dubstep gotten so insanely popular, in the dance shoes of fans from pretty much every genre of music? I'm curious to see if a graph could be made charting the correlation between increases in both viewership of increasingly hardcore porn and listenership of Cragga. The fact that we have come to describe the high quality of a song in that genre as "dirty" could be more than a little revealing. I can see Rusko's newest single in a year sampling and warping sounds from "Two Girls, One Cup". What would be more filthy than that?

Okay yes, the dubstep examination is probably a stretch. Hell, this whole article might be. It's hard to avoid thinking about a song this much when the music video of is this hard to turn away from. There must be a relationship between dance and fire and sex and music and it must be vital because Dick Valentine and his girlfriend are staring pretty intensely at us. Between that and its monstrous hooks, the song invites enough repeat listens to start to seriously ponder about it more than this type of music usually warrants. At the end of the day, the enjoyment of dance music comes down to something that doesn't need to explained or examined. That's why the frontman's psychopathic vocal delivery here is so appropriate. It's primal, spontaneous, uncontrolled and the enjoyment of this song should be just as primitive. The circular guitar riff is hypnotic and mesmerizing as it should be to the joints in your muscles on the dance floor. As much as some groups of humans can try to act civilized and intelligent and highbrow, the bottom line is we're still animals and maybe that's why animalistic songs like this sound so damn good to us. The instinct to dance is as ingrained in us as the instinct to breed or eat or survive. To deny that would be as unnatural as denying sex.

Song and video after the jump:

Surfer Blood - Astro Coast (2010)

2010-01-07T12:05:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9
[Kanine]

A band like Surfer Blood has no place in Florida. In case you didn't know, the Sunshine State is without a doubt one of the strangest places in the country. Last year, an overweight man from Florida tried to argue in the court of law that he was too fat to kill his former son-in-law, while another man whose computer contained over 1,000 child porn images blamed his cat. Just this past week, some guy thought he could put up a ransom for stealing someone's potted plant. There are nymphomaniacs, truck fighters, fish-wielders and diaper dudes. Jew kickers and door-to-door breast doctors run rampant, Hooters lies to their employees and grandparents hire hit men.

Surfer Blood know where they live (One of the tracks on Astro Coast was titled "Twin Peaks" for a reason) and must feel pretty uncomfortable about it because all they seem to want to do is sound as normal as possible. They must cling to their copies of Vampire Weekend and The Blue Album every night shivering in fear of all the weirdos and bizarre events they're surrounded by.

Their debut album seems to function as a sort of desperate last attempt to get out of their environment, capitalizing on a unique mix of every popular indie pop trend ever made. Sonic Youth guitar tones do Strokes covers. Weezer power pop sections alternate between Krautrock influenced instrumentals. Surf music and The Shins, Bradford Cox and The Sea and Cake, etc. Astro Coast will have you playing the name game for hours.

But really, who cares when the songs are this well structured and fun to follow? Rolling waves of grunginess give way to guitar heroics and handclaps on "Floating Vibes". "Take it Easy" shifts back and forth between jittery and groovy, always reiterating its namesake. "Harmonix" begins cutesy but gets otherworldly with disorienting haziness in each chorus.

Surfer Blood offers a nice alternative to Vampire Weekend haters everywhere. Both bands are shameless about their stealing and aim to create something distinct and, above all, fun in their mixing and matching of indie-fluences, but Surfer Blood sounds far less conscious about it. They're more lo-fi, more garage, more laid-back and with those Rivers Cuomo vocals, far more geeky and humble. Identifiable, easy to listen to and enjoyable even after multiple listens, Astro Coast has the potential to become a huge hit.

Beach House - Teen Dream (2010)

2010-01-07T00:02:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9
[Sub Pop]

With Teen Dream, highly acclaimed lo-fi dream pop duo Beach House continues their gradual embrace of higher production values, but that was probably to be expected. The more significant and surprising shift for their third LP, however, is that of mood. Teen Dream is a noticeably lighter affair than its two predecessors. Whereas Devotion was an album made for haunted houses and unsettled spirits, Teen Dream mines the duo's sleepy keyboards and Victoria Legrand's ambiguous moans for soundtracking the spirit of...well...teens.

From the cymbal crashes and rumbling drums of "Zebra" to the kaleidoscopic shuffle of "10 Mile Stereo", Teen Dream is constantly reinforcing the imagery of wide open fields, walks in the park and the wild nature of animals as metaphors for youth and freewheeling lovers. 'Beasts' and 'hunters' lurk under the lazy guitar figures and shimmering psychedelia of album highlight, "Norway", but Legrand suggests that the push and pull of these violent mates contains something sacred and beautiful; something that opens the "billions of stars to your fate". Even if she still sounds like she's lonely and lost, the brighter textures emphasize the hope in her isolation this time around, rather than the heartbreak.

Nostalgic romance is the star of the show. "Better Times" sways through snapshots of American Graffiti with its vintage guitar riff and gentle rock. "Real Love" gets stuck swooning over just the opening of "Don't Stop Believin" for maximum emotional punch. Gorgeous album closer, "Take Care" employs baroque touches to recreate a long carousel ride with your first true love. There's always been a dusty element to Beach House's music that could make listeners think about old photo albums, but the fondness emanating on Teen Dream will probably make you actually break them out.

But however satisfying it may be to see Beach House realize their potential in some ways, it also sort of reveals just how unremarkable the core elements of their sound have always been. Devotion and even Beach House might have been transitional works, but their mystery and dark underbelly translated for much more replay value. When certain songs got boring, the atmosphere carried the album. On the other hand, Teen Dream is far more open about its intentions, which is to stun you with its beauty before...actually, that's it.

The buzz-n-fuzz of "Silver Soul" may initially catch your ear, but the trick quickly runs thin. On "Lover of Mine" the duo seems to suffer from the same problem, getting so lost in the tone and texture of their keyboards that they forget to craft a song that does anything other than drift beautifully. Ultimately that's the thing that keeps Teen Dream from being as flat-out stunning as Devotion; it's remarkably well-painted, but that doesn't change the fact that you're looking at wallpaper. After all the advances and evolution made in genres like Electronica, Hip Hop and Dubstep that other sub-sections of the indie pop world have already thoroughly integrated and embraced, you have to wonder where that leaves sleepy and fairly simple artists like Beach House. There's no denying that Teen Dream is one of the first good albums of the new year, but what's questionable is whether or not it's that important.

Tom Waits "Big Time" Screening

2009-12-11T12:36:00.000-08:00

In celebration of Tom Waits' 60th birthday, the continuing Magic Bus Movie Night series hosted his classic concert movie, Big Time, last night.

Sponsored by the San Francisco Bay Guardian, The Magic Bus screens music-related concerts, clips and documentaries on the first Thursday of every month at the 9'th St. Media Center.

David Smay, author of the Continuum Press 33 1/3 for Swordfishtrombones hosted the event, inserting little tidbits of Tom Waits knowledge into every other sentence he spoke, and opening the movie with trivia, and a bunch of infinitely entertaining, miscellaneous Tom Waits-related clips including his cover of Daniel Johnston's nararration of King Kong set to clips of the film, an animation for the track from Orphans of Waits reciting a chldren's story (note: don't let Tom Waits near your children) and a dog-food commercial Waits did in one of the more "down-and-out" moments of his career (Is there anything that wouldn't sound cooler with Waits narrating? He's like the Morgan Freeman of hipsters).

As for the movie itself, Big Time captures what was quite possibly the greatest touring band Waits has ever had, with the barbed and harsh guitar stylings of Marc Ribot, San Francisco wind-instrument guru Ralph Carney and Greg Cohen of John Zorn fame on bass. If those names aren't familiar, all you have to know is that the performances prominently feature the output of Waits at the peak of his career (the Swordfishtrombones/Rain Dogs/Frank's Wild Years trilogy of the 80's).

A carnivalized version of "Rain Dogs" finds the whole band slowly congregating into the center of the stage for a gypsy-groove celebration bridge while Waits shows off his dancing chops, "Down in The Hole" finds him eerily echoing Daniel Day Lewis from There Will Be Blood and classics like "Clap Hands" and "Time" are delivered with even more body, texture, lushness and flow than their studio counterparts.

Performances are intercut by Tom Waits' character-features, involving hilarious on-stage rants about used erotica featuring girls without skin, a woman getting pregnant through a bullet previously pierced through the testicle of a soldier and a dire need for wigs and novelties in Indiana (cigarette lighters the size of encyclopedias!), as well as surreal shorts with Waits' alter-ego, Frank, as the main character, no doubt a product of the fruitful collaboration at the time between Waits and his wife, Kathleen Brennan.

Big Time does the best job possible of summing up exactly what was so special about Waits in the 80's, from his dark humor and oddball-avant characterization to his incorporation of technical proficiency in the realms of completely American forms such as blues and folk. A Tom Waits performance is not only a musical event, but a sort of "fusion" art engagement between stage-acting, comedy, art and sounds. Concert movies don't always justify their existence, but for those who've never had a chance to see Waits live, this is well-documented argument for his nomination as the greatest performer alive.

Yeasayer - "Ambling Alp"

2009-12-10T07:12:00.000-08:00

If music is any indication, Brooklyn has been in a state these past ten years that can only described as "everlasting-dance". This is a sociological community-state that the Brooklyn of the 00s has defined and is similar to how we would refer to Flint, Michigan as"impovershed", L.A. as "polluted" or anywhere in Florida as "really fucking weird". Brooklyn is "everlastingly-dancetastic". The streets are littered with easy-to-use wires, pedals, and electronics that, when touched, create randomized futuristic sounds and everyone wears face paint and is on acid all the time and speaks only in mystical pseudo-philosophical tongue. As Yakov Smirnoff would put it, In post-9/11 Brooklyn, drugs take you!

And where do they take you exactly? We gotta wait for Odd Blood, due February 9, 2010 on Secretly Canadian to find out, but the album's first single, the warm, inviting "Ambling Alp", suggests it's somewhere you'll want to go.

The track opens in an ambient Animal Collective influenced (let's get that obvious reference point out of the way and move on, shall we?) collage of tweets and atmosphere before rising and climaxing into the playful verses; an acutely structured sequence of percussional noises and sound effects leading the way for a whistling keyboard and bouyant bass to remind the listener that this bizarre combination of sounds is intended to be fun, not terrifying (and with a music video like this, I imagine most people will need that reminder). Cue Horns and falsettos in the chorus to do the same. On a certain level, Yeasayer aren't doing anything new, but the great thing about the Brooklyn futuro-tribal fusion movement is that it seems like it's going to take a long, long time before different combinations of the same thing stop being interesting.

Song after the jump:

Vampire Weekend - "Cousins"

2009-12-09T23:37:00.000-08:00

Vampire Weekend clearly don't care about the indie-community backlash that's been steadily growing against them because, if they did, they would've never chosen "Horchata" to open their new album. "Horchata" seems to streamline every single element of their sound that the typical anti-VW personality hates into one piece of music: cutesiness for the simple sake of being cute, a hook that could fit comfortably into Kids Bop, and an element of upper-class sterility that occasionally seems to be trying a tiny bit too hard to sound "worldly".

The true lead single from Vampire Weekend's upcoming Contra, however, is the complete opposite.

"Cousins" is "A-Punk" if the song had any replay value whatsoever. The overplayed single from 2 springs ago was frantic, but that's more or less all it was. The brilliant thing about "Cousins" though, is that it doesn't just settle for being excited; it aims for batshit insanity. No one would dare accuse "Cousins" of being shallow because it doesn't give you enough time to even think about the song in those terms. As if the simplistic, jagged guitar riff opening the song didn't sound spastic enough already, the constant rapid-fire drum fills, snake-like bass and Ezra Koenig frantically switching between monkey noises and quick-paced, clearly enunciated, yet completely meaningless rhymes ("Dad was a risk taker! his was a shoe maker! You! greatest hits! 2006! list maker!"), only heightens the frenzy. The unhinged snarl of the verses bring Vampire Weekend down to earth in a way that will make the most devoted Vampire Weekend doubters give a double-take.

What pulls "Cousins" together from a fun racket into a genuine song, however, is the glorious instrumental chorus where twin guitars break into a contest to see who can pick out descending notes the fastest. Surf music, post punk and indie rock attitude hasn't been combined this effectively since The Pixies, but even they never sounded like they were ever having this much fun.

Song after the jump:

Smashing Pumpkins - "A Song For A Son"

2009-12-07T15:48:00.000-08:00

There are two types of people in the world: the rationalist skeptics and the faithful believers. There are many tests to determine which one you are, but the one I like to use these days is the Teargarden by Kaleidyscope test. This test is simple. Just ask the subject how they reacted when they heard that The Smashing Pumpkins' (or more accurately at this point, The Billy Corgan Experience's) next studio album would be composed of 44 songs released one by one over the course of 3 years. Both types sighed, of course, but if you are a Rationalist it was probably a sigh of exasperation. The faithful on the other hand...

These are the same people who believe there was once a time when Billy Corgan's pretentiousness was a source of intrigue. Whereas the rationalist probably looks at most of Corgan's work as worthless teenage angst, the faithful know that there was something genuinely magical about the art in the liner notes of Mellon Collie. When spun, those smiling moon and sun illustrations covering both discs told dense, engaging fairy tales and painted pictures as fantastic and transportative as any myth Robert Plant was once able to spin.

These two camps are almost equally separated when it comes to the Machina albums. The rationalists will hate it on principle alone, and won't give either of them much of a bone. But the faithful, regardless of how much they liked or disliked them, will always at least commend Corgan's vision throughout it; a complicated conceptual story involving a rock star named Zero, the voice of God, and uncountable amounts of eye-liner.

With Zeitgeist, this distinction disappeared. Everyone hated it.

But what "A Song for A Son" represents is the moment from which the two camps have finally broken off again. The rationalists will undoubtedly write it off as more childish Corgan-penned melodrama. But the faithful will pick up on the prominent use of harpsichords, mellotrons and atmosphere, embrace the prog-rock structure, rave about the dramatic classic rock guitar solo midway throughout the song, and find themselves as excited by the prismatic art that comes with the download as they probably were when they first saw the video for "Tonight Tonight". Do you hear that? A sigh of relief.

So before listening to Corgan's first of many chapters in what will either become the best 90's Alternative (or 70's Classic Rock?) revival album ever or just an excruciatingly long descent into a your average Rock Star ego trip, ask yourself what kind of person you are. Because as much as "A Song For A Son" should be hailed as a refreshing, swoon-worthy, totally awesome return to form, the bottom line is that it's a song made for the faithful.

Song after the jump:

Quasimoto - The Further Adventures of Lord Quas (2005)

2009-11-24T13:18:00.000-08:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Between the Slim Shady persona becoming a parody of himself, the 4 year break for all of MF Doom's projects and titles (only to end with him returning simply as DOOM), and the ridiculously constant name changes of Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/SeanDaddyP.CombsDiddyJabberwockymajig, it might be safe to say that the hip hop alter-ego has had it's day. Increasingly, it's becoming to feel more like a gimmick than something that could actually inspire new ideas within an artist.

So where does that leave Quasimoto? There were already moments on The Unseen where it felt like Madlib was spending too much time with just himself in his garage. Whereas on Madvillainy, Madlib had someone else to bounce his ideas off of and tell him what wasn't working (See "Closer" w/ MF Doom for more evidence of how effective this is), the Quasimoto moniker finds our Stones Throw leading star basically talking to himself. And while it hasn't been confirmed whether or not Madlib took as many drugs for The Further Adventures of Lord Quas as he did for The Unseen, it certainly sounds like he doubled his intake, because the frustrations are a bit tougher to overlook, such as when the plodding boredom of "Greenery" ends with a 15 second snippet of a delicious Blaxploitation rhythm that could have been a much better song in and of itself, or how the smooth nightstalker grooves of "Bus Ride" keep getting interrupted by nonsensical hodgepodges of random notes and hobo rants.

Undoubtedly, a lot of people will forgive or even commend Madlib for his refusal to edit because, for those fascinated by the intoxicating effects of drugs, it's hard not to glamorize it. Plus, any Madlib fan would be foolish to miss out on hearing him go synth-crazy on "Don't Blink" and "Bartender Say", indulging in lush productions as on "The Exclusive", And delivering what-the-fuck experiences on "Shroom Music" and "Tomorrow Never Knows" that can't really be found anywhere else.

Ultimately though, marijuana is not a miracle inspiration and can't pull genius out of anyone's ass. At the end of "Greenery", Madlib can't resist putting in that familiar "America's Most Blunted" sample of an educational video voice explaining how "Everyone finds that they're more creative stoned than straight!" But then it goes on to explain how all of us are Michelangelos and Da Vincis, and that assumption is where The Further Adventures of Lord Quas loses its way. Weed only brings out what's already there. Someone who's never touched an instrument won't compose a symphony when they're high, although someone who's had years of practice and songwriting experience will probably find ideas they wouldn't have thought of sober. To Madlib's credit, he certainly fits the latter bill.

But an even bigger misstep would be failure to aknowledge that not all of them are going to sound as good the morning after, and Lord Quas makes that mistake a few too many times on this slight sophomore slump. The problem is that when you wake and bake, there's never a "morning after".

Best Albums of the 2000s

2009-09-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

The end of a decade is always a fun time for music coverage, with critics and commentators scrambling to sum up what defined the era, how music evolved, what the best records were, and ultimately predict the future. But if you really think about it, our sense of time is already such an ambiguous concept, and so let's face it: organizing these massive examinations by every ten years is just silly. Why not 8 years? Or 15? We ignore this fallacy because terms like "the 80s" or "the 60s" are just catchy, and luckily enough, for most of the past 50 years, musical movements and narratives did vaguely fit into their neatly-packed increments.

But looking back on this decade in particular makes it difficult to ignore thoughts about how we should start thinking about music. Because how do you try to thoroughly sum up or characterize a decade that seemed to be defined by how fractured and spread out music had become? For true music-philes growing up in the 2000s, there wasn't a clear, single, overarching narrative; simply thousands of smaller ones. The fractured breakdown and diversion of music was already getting started in the 80's and moreso in the 90's, but throughout the 00s it's been extremely obvious. And so it's really hard to deny that a discussion of "significance," when most of the highest-selling albums are absolute crap, has begun to seem more and more irrelevant. Sure, we could talk about the cultural impact of Kelly Clarkson's "Since You Been Gone," or the meaning of Peter Wentz's myspace/MTV whore antics, but that's just depressing.

So, it makes sense that as time goes on, these "end of the decade" lists and indeed, music coverage in general, might begin to embrace the more subjective human experience that goes into music-listening. The popularity of Pitchfork, blogs and their occasional, more informal style of writing has proven this. All the music in the world is available to us with just a coupe of clicks, and there's such a huge amount of good music in such a wide variety (very little of which gets the attention and fame it deserves) that every individual experience has become drastically different. Public taste has gotten so specific and complex that attempts to gather them all into a single group and definitively, 'objectively' cover it (say, in the way that Rolling Stone once did), is just impossible. So why not just embrace the subjectivity?

This list was created with that in mind. Influence, impact, importance, weren't factors in deciding what made the cut; these are just the albums that I personally enjoy more than any other. Most of the choices themselves are probably not what you're gonna find on most of the typical "end-of-decade" lists (even though some are). Furthermore, it's ordered from the earliest I heard to the latest, and I make my subjective experience of each album very clear, dissecting why the album is personally important to me; the memories I have listening to it, the chapter of my life that it soundtracked, or what the album means to me. Afterward, I talk about the album on a more generalized level; what it sounds like, what it means for its respective music scene, influence, importance or why I think it deserves to be singled out as one of the best of decade. But the goal is to analyze not only the past ten years of music, but also the past ten years of my life, because for those of us truly consumed by the art form, the two are inseparable.

Honorable Mentions

There are hundreds upon hundreds of albums that didn't make this list, and not enough time to name drop all the good or great ones that came out of this decade. But there is time to mention the incredible ones. They're not quite perfection, but are still classics of the era.

Aesop Rock - Float (2000)
At The Drive In - Relationship Of Command (2000)
The Avalanches - Since I Left You (2000)
Boris - Flood (2000)
Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030 (2000)
Explosions In The Sky - How Strange, Innocence (2000)
Jedi Mind Tricks - Violent By Design (2000)
Modest Mouse - The Moon And Antarctica (2000)
Queens of The Stone Age - Rated R (2000)
Radiohead - Kid A (2000)
Reflection Eternal - Train of Thought (2000)
A Silver Mt. Zion - He Has Left Us Alone but Shafts of Light Sometimes Grace the Corner of Our Rooms... (2000)
Sunn O))) - Void 00 (2000)
Blink 182 - Take Off Your Pants and Jacket (2001)
Cannibal Ox - The Cold Vein (2001)
Converge - Jane Doe (2001)
Daft Punk - Discovery (2001)
Death Cab For Cutie - The Photo Album (2001)
Fugazi - The Argument (2001)
Liars - They Threw Us All In A Trench And Stuck A Monument On Top (2001)
M83 - M83 (2001)
The Microphones - The Glow Pt. 2 (2001)
Opeth - Blackwater Park (2001)
A Silver Mt. Zion - "Born Into Trouble as the Sparks Fly Upward" (2001)
The Strokes - Is This It (2001)
Beck - Sea Change (2002)
Broken Social Scene - You Forgot It In People (2002)
The Decemberists - Castaways And Cutouts (2002)
Interpol - Turn On The Bright Lights (2002)
Mastodon - Remission (2002)
Sonic Youth - Murray Street (2002)
Spoon - Kill The Moonlight (2002)
The Streets - Original Pirate Material (2002)
The Books - The Lemon of Pink (2003)
Boris - Boris At Last: Feedbacker (2003)
Explosions In The Sky - The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place (2003)
M83 - Dead Cities, Red Seas and Lost Ghosts (2003)
The Mars Volta - De Loused In The Comatorium (2003)
Menomena - I Am The Fun Blame Monster (2003)
The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow (2003)
Sunn O))) - White1 (2003)
Viktor Vaughn - Vaudeville Villain (2003)
Xiu Xiu - A Promise (2003)
Arcade Fire - Funeral (2004)
Blonde Redhead - Misery Is A Butterfly (2004)
Brian Wilson - Smile (2004)
Death From Above 1979 - You're A Woman, I'm A Machine (2004)
Elliott Smith - From A Basement on The Hill (2004)
Madvillain - Madvillainy (2004)
The National - Alligator (2005)
Opeth - Ghost Reveries (2005)
Sufjan Stevens - Illinois (2005)
Destroyer - Destroyer's Rubies (2006)
Ghostface Killah - Fishscale (2006)
Jay Dee - Donuts (2006)
Joanna Newsom - Ys (2006)
The Hold Steady - Boys And Girls In America (2006)
Liars - Drum's Not Dead (2006)
Animal Collective - Strawberry Jam (2007)
Battles - Mirrored (2007)
Burial - Untrue (2007)
Dan Deacon Spiderman of The Rings (2007)
Iron and Wine - The Shepherd's Dog (2007)
LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver (2007)
M83 - Digital Shades Vol. 1 (2007)
Menomena - Friend And Foe (2007)
Omar Rodriguez Lopez - Calibration (Is Pushing Luck and Key Too Far) (2007)
Panda Bear - Person Pitch (2007)
Have A Nice Life - Deathconsciousness (2008)
The Hold Steady - Stay Positive (2008)
Lindstrom - Where You Go I Go Too (2008)
Omar Rodriguez Lopez - Old Money (2008)
A Silver Mt. Zion - 13 Blues for Thirteen Moons (2008)
TV On The Radio - Dear Science (2008)
Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend (2008)
Atlas Sound - Logos (2009)
Bat For Lashes - Two Suns (2009)
The Decemberists - The Hazards Of Love (2009)
Do Make Say Think - Other Truths (2009)
MF Doom - Born Like This (2009)
Mono - Hymn To The Immortal Wind (2009)
Raekwon - Only Built 4 Cuban Linx Pt. 2 (2009)

...and without further ado...

1. Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennaes To Heaven (2000)

I first heard Godspeed You! Black Emperor not long after getting home internet access, and so they represented a major milestone in the development of my music taste. This was exactly the kind of band that I could have only gotten into through a computer; the sort of music that no matter how much I heard about, I could never find on the radio. It was a challenge; not only were the track lengths intimidating, but I didn't have a laptop or even an ipod yet, so in order hear all this new music and my fingertips, I had to sit in the the living room at the desktop and deal with my dad being drunk and vile-mouthed In the background all the time. I remember coming across "Sleep" through my last.fm radio but not being able to finish it because the program kept crashing, and Limewire didn't seem to have any reliable downloads that weren't damaged. I must've spent almost an hour trying to finish that song, listening to the senile old man speech about sleeping on Coney Island at least 5 times and still preferring that to the loud belligerence of my dad. When I finally got to the last movement of the song, around 19 minutes in, he had turned his insults towards my mom. I heard things being thrown, objects crashing, as the cascading, driving hopeful progression built to a moving climax. It was a long wait, but that was one of the first times my hair actually stood up while listening to something. Lift Your Skinny Fists taught me how gloriously patience with challenging music could really pay off.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor may very well be the greatest and most important Post-Rock band of all time. They didn't stick around like Mogwai, Mono or Do Make Say Think, but that's only because they didn't have to. In 3 LP's and an EP, they led each and every wave of the post-rock movement, from the late 90's to the late 00's, and provided a near-perfect template for soundtracking the apocalypse. One would be hard-pressed to deny the greatness of at least 3 of those 4 albums but Lift Your Skinny Fists... especially, stands tall in stature above every other post-rock album of its time. While most of their albums were about mankind screwing themselves over through greed, global warming and capitalism, Lift Your Skinny Fists... felt more about the passion, will and triumph amidst all the inevitable fire, brimstone and chaos. For many burgeoning teenage indie-kids, it had to be an essential tool for retaining idealism throughout the frustration of adolesence. If GY!BE, a band that once opened their albums with cheery declarations like, "We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine, and the machine is bleeding to death", could aknowledge that there's hope for humanity, then ANYONE could.

2. Xiu Xiu - Fabulous Muscles (2004)

"Cremate me after you cum on my lips, Honey boy place my ashes in a vase, beneath your workout bench. No romance no sexiness, But a star-filled night, kneeling down before the now familiar flesh of your deformed penis, Wigging out before the unfamiliar flesh of my broken neck" Few songs have confused me upon first listen as much as the title track from my first Xiu Xiu album. When I first heard those lyrics, I didn't know whether to laugh, be disturbed, disgusted, or moved. I was still a kid. The indie-alternative world of grays and striking emotions was gradually opening up to me, but my preferred style was still simple stuff; bands like Bad Religion and Green Day. Xiu Xiu was one of the bands that changed that. The idea that dysfunction was a measurable, quantifiable element of human behavior had just become a major belief of mine; I could see layers of fog inevitably settling over people who were once abused or neglected, and there seemed to be very few people who I would tell my anxiety about this to who really picked up on it or even seemed at all concerned. Everyone wants to believe that people have choice and the power to change. No one wants to think that they're inclined to negativity or attracted to drama. But Jamie Stewart understood perfectly. Rape, abused families, war, self-loathing, and an appropriately confrontational way of exposing it all that bordered on the avant garde. With Fabulous Muscles, He expressed himself in a way that made me completely jealous. Today I have way more faith in people, but every single time I re-listen to Fabulous Muscles, that visceral feeling of hopelessness in the face of conditioning hits me just as hard as it used to.

Why listen to music that only offers straightforward, catchy entertainment or that only explores serious lyrical issues and intellectual stimulation from experimentalism, when you can listen to music that does both? Fabulous Muscles is the de-facto example of the decade. The almost nonsensical video game bleeps of "Crank Heart" and "Brian The Vampire" seem determined to irritate the listener, but they can't overpower Jamie Stewart's ear for a good hook. Adversely, the hum-along qualities of a perfect track like "Clowne Towne" can't drown out his preference for unsettling lyrics and a quivering self-destructive voice. The percussion throughout feels like it was simply pulled out of a hat of miscellaneous objects, drum machine fragments, and cut-copied found sounds and yet...some of this actually manages to be danceable. There's also the sheer variety of everything. "Support Our Troops OH!" is a pure exploration of the avant-garde, abrasive poetry, menacing noise and performance art. But, what follows? A gorgeous and delicate acoustic ballad. Some might say the result is just too scattered, but if the goal is to make something striking and confrontational, this balance of aesthetics can't be overlooked. Jamie Stewart's sense of conventionalism is inherent just enough to fool the listener into a false sense of security, so that when he does whip out something overflowing with emotion and abrasiveness, it hits even harder than it would; perhaps harder than anything else could. Good luck finding an album that sounds more generally unsettling than Fabulous Muscles.

3. Sleater-Kinney - The Woods (2005)

My first two years at High School was the most awkward time of my life. Don't get me wrong, no one shakes off every single insecurity by the time they're my age now, but from 2003 to 2005 the mental muck was just crippling. The one time that I felt like a real person, however, was record shopping. I took off during open lunches to go to the local Tower Records, skipped classes to travel to Amoeba in the Haight, left class early to go downtown and flip through Rasputin. Sometimes I didn't even buy anything; I would just browse records and listen to what was being played on the speakers. If it was good, I'd ask who it was. What I was doing was building an identity through musical knowledge and taste. I covered my backpack with pins and patches, decorated my binders with collages of stickers, band pics and liner note fragments and shamelessly wore music t-shirts from hot topic. It was my way of saying, "look, I know I don't talk much, but there's a lot of passion for life and curiosity under this veil of shyness and acne," but it probably just made me come off as a poser. And there was a part of me that sorta knew I was a poser as well, because here I was, purchasing an album by a band I knew nothing about, from a genre I had no interest in (Riot-Grrl), because the empire of cool (spear-headed by a certain unnamed publication...) had told me to. A lot of the bands I got into and name-dropped before this, I didn't really have much of a deep-seated interest in. I just felt like I should - I had an interest in having a challenge, especially if the end result would be mastering something; even if it was as insignificant as music know-how. Imagine my surprise to find how easy it was to like Sleater-Kinney; they yelled, they rocked out for 11 minutes straight, they were political, they were angry. I always thought a lot of indie music wasn't known for a reason; because it was challenging, it was subtle, it was well...sometimes boring. But this was so immediate and in your face. The barriers between mainstream and indie were starting to break down in my mind. Why did I even care about these tags? In retrospect though, I don't regret trying to make myself like music that I didn't immediately. It trained my ears, deepened my open-mindedness, and enabled me to just grow the fuck up. When I listen to The Woods today, it reminds me of how standing at the edge of adolesence felt, ready to plunge into some early semblance of maturity.

The producer for The Woods was one of the most unlikely choices of the decade. With distortion constantly in the red, solos that squirm and crunch as discordantly as possible, vocal chords that aggressively clutch balls while kicking faces in and dinosaur drums that take their John Bonham worship very seriously, music this sloppy could have just as easily been handled by Steve Albini. But instead, the credits list the producer of calculated symphonic pop masterpieces like The Soft Bulletin and Mercury Rev's Deserter's Songs. Pre-release, Sleater-Kinney fans were probably pretty worried. So Dave Fridmann deserves extra credit for reigning in his taste for the expansive and using his knowledge of sound just to finally allow these 3 northwestern vixens be as loud as they've always wanted to be. Where some might have cried "sell out," others perceptively observed how Sleater-Kinney's entire timeline of reinventing the riot-grrl wheel seemed to be leading up to this fiery implosion of impassioned, jam-tastic guitar bliss; an album in which feminism claimed the signature Led Zeppelin cock-rock of the 70's as their own and twisted it into something that rivals even the best of the bunch.

4. TV On The Radio - Return To Cookie Mountain (2006)

I was a lover before this war, right? It had been a while since I knew the way. I could recall being against the wall, under the stars, talking about love meaning. And well, I wasn't dreaming. I meant every word, just to know her demons. But the weather changed and the river froze and when it thawed?... Well, there was this Cookie Mountain I kept hearing about, see? Something to wash the day away. And I had never inquired how to be free, I Just stayed on my knees. I kept trying to slice through the ether, but she was still gleaming like mother of pearl. And I know it was somewhere, but where?... My senior year of high school wasn't very stable. There was a lot of relationship drama. But Return To Cookie Mountain kept me sane during the turbulence. I started going on lot's of aimless walks throughout the city, with it spinning on repeat. It actually didn't leave my regular rotation for more than 2 months; a record for me at the time. I explored a lot of the city I had never even seen before and the choruses of New York art-student Doo Wop voices and tribal-urban-noise seemed to be seeping out of the nooks, crannys and sewage holes of of every neighborhood corner. There was something about the album that made it sync up with the San Francisco environment and truly speak to me; the two coasts were working together, trying to tell me that something was not right with my current reality. I really don't know what I would've done without this album.

Has New York ever been anything less than a breeding ground for talent? From The Strokes debut early in the decade to the recent explosion of creativity in post-modernist tribalism in pop-fusion, the city seems to be incapable of going a single year without offering something truly special to the new music scene. The chances of there not being a NY album on this list, or indeed any "best of the decade" list should be slim to none. The question of which album is more pressing, but not that much more. What it will ultimately come down to for many is Turn On The Bright Lights or Return To Cookie Mountain. Return To Cookie Mountain, however, has more modern relevance going for it. Turn On The Bright Lights was a revolution for the way it brilliantly gathered old influences (Joy Division, The Smiths, Gang of Four) into a new whole, but it just as easily could have been released any time of the 90's or even the late 80's. The same goes for classics like Is This It or indeed, most of the early decade's best albums. But TV On The Radio has been a band born distinctly out of the 00's. Post punk, 80's jangle pop and college radio staples were replaced by world music, electronica and hodgepodge miscellania like doo-wop or dub. Along with artists like Animal Collective, Vampire Weekend and MIA, they helped give the current decade an identity of its own and represented a new breed of artists entirely; a completely new pot of influences far more removed from what so many in the jaded world of indie music had become so used to.

5. Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

After a long year of ups, downs and constant unsureness, the finality of things were finally starting to set in. Summer was ending, college was gonna begin, and the breakup of my first, longest, and most significant relationship to date began and ended with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Since that experience, it's continued to be my recurring breakup album. Laying awake at night in the dark not sure what to do, Jeff Tweedy's confusion gave me instant clarity. Yeah, the purposeful vagueness of a lot of his gestures meant that the album could essentially mean whatever I wanted it to, depending on how I was feeling. It was just reaffirmation therapy and happened to hit me at the right moment. But the more I listened, the more I began to feel that all the self-doubt inherent in the lyrics and the way the music would fall apart at random just couldn't be about anything else. "I've got reservations about so many things...but not about you." This was a breakup album. It could change from situation to situation, but it still always will be my breakup album.

In retrospect, it's hard to believe that Warner Bros couldn't accept Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Yes, it's quirky, forward-thinking, experimentally produced and obtuse, but at the core of all the fragmented soundscaping are conventional Jeff Tweedy classic rock songs. This is still Americana, it's just an upgraded version, tweaked for the new cynical-minded, post 9/11 America. Recently, I've begun to realize that this change of tone with the basic Rock language must have struck a nerve in the same way that anti-American sentiments in the aftermath of the Twin Towers did. There had to be something unsettling to the powers-that-be in the way that something so essentially American (whether Classic Rock or patriotism) could be tweaked into something so un-American (whether experimentalism or lack of faith in ones country). But the reactionary success of the album should have been a good sign at least. In the same way that people ultimately wised up a little politically, the music industry began to turn around for the better. If there's anything that characterizes the 00s in music, it's in the way artists and fans have used digital distribution and the internet to "take back" the art form. The CD is dying, artists are releasing albums for free online, bands are getting deals through social networking sites or ignoring record labels altogether and, in some cases, even making way more money because of it. And in retrospect, the way Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was denied by Warner Bros, released independently for free, and then bought back by the same company because of its critical acclaim and fan adoration, set an important standard. As for the music itself, it's a masterpiece, but all the hype means you probably already knew that.

6. Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007)

As much as the digitization of music throughout the decade has benefitted many bands, it's also taken something away from the music listening process. The ability to chop up albums into bite-size tracks, the increase in internet leaks and being able to listen to anything you want at any time for no fee makes it extremely easy to not appreciate music for the developmental process that it can provide. I had gotten to the point where I had too much music in too little time, and wasn't giving any of it the time and attention that's required to really form "bonds" with certain works. It had been too long since I had actually appreciated an album from start to finish in its intended form. With its "pay-as-much-as-you-want" internet-only release, In Rainbows cured this for me. Nevermind the implications it suggested to the music industry; just think about the profound experience huge Radiohead fans like myself had, waiting till midnight on October 9’th, 2007 to get the first listen. Released merely ten days after it’s announcement, the album never had a chance to lose momentum. There was no chance for a leak. Fans didn’t have to deal with that slow anti-climatic process of waiting months and months after a release date is announced, then drag themselves to the nearest record store during their lunch break. Everyone heard the album at the exact same time and, for a single night, a record release was once again an event. Throughout the year, I was beginning to prefer film and television over music, but this experience brought me back to my home-base with every bit of passion as I used to have for it.

The often-made comparison between Radiohead and The Beatles may be a bit of a cliché, but that doesn’t make it any less true, especially when examined on an album-to-album basis. You see, Pablo Honey represents the entirety of The Beatles' pre-Rubber Soul work - pleasant, but ultimately shallow, dated and ordinary. The Bends, much like Rubber Soul, was the band's first sign of ambition. Although firmly rooted in the same style, it showed mastery of the form, greater depth, and hints of future experimentations. Taking the place of Revolver, OK Computer pushed that adventurism to the forefront and introduced the “new Radiohead” as we know them now - paranoid, uneasy, and brilliant. Kid A, however, was their Sgt. Pepper. It was their single-minded and bodied statement, their great leap into the unknown and their vie for perfection. And then they dropped their White Album with Hail To The Thief: a sprawling work that went in all directions at once. So, as you guessed it, In Rainbows completes the parallel and functions as Radiohead's Abbey Road. On it, Radiohead take their last 10 years of experimentation and graft it onto their old style of songwriting, resulting in a work that concisely sums up their career in 10 distinct tracks. Another parallel is that In Rainbows is always relentlessly beautiful – warm and lush, where their other albums since the big change in sound (OK Computer and onward), were cold and a little detached. But as grand as In Rainbows gets in its most climactic moments, it’s usually defined by spaciousness, and so it’s perfect that it ends with the understated minimalism of “Videotape”. Such a choice seems to be in direct contrast with the closer of Radiohead’s other magnum-opus, Kid A, and is the conceptual stamp the album needs to establish it as a complimentary masterpiece to that classic. I mean, it's obvious that Radiohead knew that they knew they were composing a perfect album here. In interviews, Ed O’ Brien called it the last great album they needed in order to secure a legacy, and Thom Yorke cleverly makes his last line on the album, “I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen.” Fans may have trouble shaking off the feeling that the album feels a bit too much like a collection of leftovers from throughout the band’s career, but that too, feels like it was part of the concept. Kid A and In Rainbows form two sides of the same coin. The former is conceptually precise with very few individual moments rising above the overall experience, while the latter is a scattershot collection of nothing but shining individual moments. And both are, track-for-track, two of the most accomplished and stimulating musical works of art of the decade.

7. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion (2009)

Thank you, Santa. Merriweather Post Pavilion's leak on christmas morning was one of the best presents I've ever received. I remember being at my annual Xmas family get-together at my aunt's house in castro valley and just being distracted the entire time by how much I wanted to just rush home and play the shit out of those digital files. Merriweather Post Pavilion really hit me at one of my happiest times of the past couple of years (discounting now) and so every time I put it on, I just feel so happy. Good relationship, good grades, good financial standing, not much drama, everything was going swell and I had received something that I could hold as a tribute to one of my better years of the decade. Animal Collective reaffirmed my feelings of optimism and reminded me of my intentions to live as uncomplicated and stress-free a life as I could: "There isn't much that I feel I need, A solid soul and the blood I bleed...I don't care for fancy things, or to take part in the freshest wave, but to provide for mine who ask, I will with heart on my father's grave."

If you allow them into your life, well-done concept albums comprise the peaks of musical experience. They can change lives, they can alter minds and they can dig into your subconscious in ways that regular albums can't. As much as MPP may have appeared to fans like a simple performance document of their 2008 tour, the conceptual coherence of the work is what makes it the greatest album of the decade. Close listening reveals it to be the Dark Side of The Moon of our time; an Odysseus-like, hi-fi, pilgrimage through an alternate reality. Assuming that the tripped out album cover is not a coincidence, the album could be seen as an argument for subconscious exploration, whether that journey is embarked upon through drugs, dreams, music or any other form of therapy. The first track resembles going to sleep and entering the sub consciousness; taking the drug; beginning the album. The song opens with indecipherable noise, as if to signify all the obstacles from your daily life, before Avey Tare's otherworldly chants lulls you into a calm. He slyly suggests a form of relief; "If I could just leave my body for one night..." All of a sudden the band shows what he's talking about, with a blast of holy radiation. Heavenly synths rain down from the skies and the listener is drawn straight into the world of Merriweather Post Pavilion with the intention of discovering the euphoria this intro has hinted at. The following eight tracks represent that deranged trip through the minds' tangled weaves with various ups and downs and after a long stretch of fake-outs and misadventures though (see the textural feast, "Daily Routine" or the contrast between ugliness and excitement on "Summertime Clothes"), a definite epiphany is reached on the simple yet beautiful "No More Runnin"...and it's surprisingly quiet. Nighttime finally falls in this mystical land and the narrator seems ready to face his fears and challenges head on: "No more runnin...it's what I hoped for..." yawns a collection of sleepy voices in the distance. The final track, "Brothersport" takes that new initiative and charges forward with a fiery determination; straight faced optimism is abound with chants like "you've got to open up your throat!" and "You gotta have a real good time!" After a wonderful bridge in which Animal Collective get as close to Trance as they've ever gotten, the song breaks into one last orgasm of harmony. For 2 minutes, the culmination of all this soul searching is chanted repeatedly over a relentless hook: "You've got so much inside, let it come right out!" When it finally ends, don't be surprised if the colors of the world suddenly appear brighter.

8. Kanye West - Late Registration (2005)

Almost 4 Smirnoff ices, a shot of whisky and I was gone (keep in mind, I’m a lightweight). The dizziness kicked in, but I quickly guzzled 2 full glasses of water and I was stable, riding on a high. Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t really celebrated New Years Eve in years. But here I was at a 2009 New Years party with most of my friends, meeting people left and right counting down the hours… A mental recreation of the stomping, celebratory “We Major” snuck into my head and stuck there until I finally arrived home at almost 6 in the morning. I was tired, but I just had to stay up another hour to listen to Late Registration from start to finish, because the infectiously boasting, pompous nature of the album was perfect for such an epic night… the following morning when I was laying in pain on the floor of the hospital waiting room, dry-heaving due to gastric-intestinitis, it wasn’t as appropriate, but once I had rehydrated myself later that night, another full listen to the Mr. West’s colorful and pristine production helped me recover from one of the most painful experiences of my life. Kanye West – the perfect soundtrack for partying and puking.

No one defending Late Registration as one of the few pop masterpieces of the decade is denying that Kanye still can’t rap for shit. But constant criticisms leveled at the Mr. West as a rapper is sorta missing the point. If all the people throwing accolades towards Kanye’s skills as a producer spent any time listening to what he had to say…well… they would’ve never listened to Kanye in the first place, because let’s face it: in the past decade, very few personalities in the music world have been more vocal and open about their total dedication to unjustified douchebaggery. To embrace Kanye is to embrace one of the purest, most undeniable examples of the style-over-substance aesthetic of the era. But once you manage to disconnect of the man from the music, what’s left is one of the more influential sound-scapers in modern pop (popularizing sped up chipmunk voices, and really deepening and diversifying the Rza-signature usage of soul samples) turning his signature style inside out and reaping relentlessly golden material from live instrumentation, trip hop and jazz influences, and classical arrangements. At the end of 2009 there still hasn’t been a song that’s sounded quite like “Heard ‘Em Say,” no handclap-infected banger as humorous and playful as the Ray Charles’ sampled “Gold Digger,” no single production as glamorous, shiny and pompous as the horn-infected stomp into heaven, “Celebration,” and very few tracks have reached the same drama as “Diamonds From Sierra Leone.” Hate on Ye as you want, but there hasn't been too many artists as successful as him in keeping musical sophistication alive in the billboard charts.

9. MF Doom - MM..Food (2004)

Mediocrity never felt so fun. When I got around to digging into the MF Doom library, I wasn't exactly at the most triumphant time of my life. I was unemployed, broke, single, smoking a lot, really bummed about still living at my parents house and the only conceivable cure for my loser blues was a long all-nighter on the computer screen with AIM, a quart of ice cream and MM..Food blasting at full volume on my headphones. Listening to this album from start to finish, track by track, with internet friends, was always worth it and no other album was played more frequently when it came to my forum browsing. Every single time the glorious webs of guitar on "Rapp Snitch Knishes" came on, I was the life of an imagined party, champagne in one hand, blunt in the other. How lame, I know, considering the reality of socializing on a computer. But I can't deny the role of escapism and down-time in maintaining my sanity, and MF Doom is the ultimate junk-food, fantasy rapper. No disrespect to Pavement, but this is my slacker album of choice.

In many circles, putting MM...Food ahead of Madvillainy would warrant being burned at the stake. But as much as there's probably no better album on the planet to listen to while high, Madvillainy isn't perfect. For one, it feels a little too long (even though this album is longer). Besides, does anyone ever actively want to listen to "Rainbows"? Plus, it feels more like a Madlib release, rather than something that's characteristically DOOM. In a conversation dealing with the best DOOM album it makes most sense that what's picked should be something that's actually characteristically DOOM; in other words, cartoon samples, smooth corniness, clever-as-fuck fun wordplay about nothing at all in particular, geeky pop culture references, straight-up FUN hip hop that sounds straight from a comic book nerd garage... If that's what you want to hear, MM..Food is track-for-track-perfect. It contains some of the most playful, clever rap on the planet, reviving the excitement of early 90's golden-era hip hop for our more irony-obsessed post-modernist generation.

10. Royksopp - Melody AM (2001)

One of the most carefree albums on this list is actually the saddest for me to revisit. There's no way to be subtle about it; Melody AM = sex, specifically from my last relationship, because we both discovered the album by using it as a soundtrack for said activities. But the physical act itself isn't what I miss when I listen to Melody AM; it's what the sex-discovery process coincides with: the honeymoon period; when two people are still getting to know eachother and everything is still fun and enjoyable, before the unsettling reality of individual insecurities sets in and before they stop wanting to make the other person happy. Before all that, there's something very pure, smooth and irresistibly downbeat about that initial attraction and mutual agreement to not want to be alone; the feeling of compromise and teamwork. Melody AM is lava lamps and lube; cuddling and standing naked by the fridge at 3 in the morning; oxytocin-induced bonding and innocent, wide-eyed romance, with the unsettling inevitability swept under the bed for a brief moment while both parties pursue the pleasure of the present.

Considering the spectacular output of electronic artists this decade, Melody AM has a ton of competition. But Royksopp's debut has something that you'd be hard pressed to get from any albums by Boards of Canada, Air or even Daft Punk. There's no single song on Melody AM that compares to the best of those classic Electronic outfits, but this sort of short, stripped down consistency is something the bigger names should really try out more often. Ten tracks under 50 minutes is bound to be an awfully familiar format to anyone who worships Portishead's timeless debut, and if there's any album that could live up to Dummy comparisons, it's this one. Both are set to soundtrack jazzy, chilled out, late night drives home in empty streets after parties. Both employ the highest technology of their respective times to paint beautiful yet danceable sound portraits that hypnotize and groove. And on both albums, the songs, especially the singles, speak for themselves. In this case, the sulking intro of "So Easy", the electronic bird tweets and shimmery waves of "Epie", the unsettling sultry lounge stylings of "Sparks", the IKEA-furniture, elevator music vibes of "Remind Me" and driving reverb-rave off, "Poor Leno", make this sound like a "best trip hop of the 00s" compilation. With the gradual trickle-down of imitators in the 'chill out' scene, and almost every song being chosen for a commercial or Mac-promotion at some point, the more you think about Melody AM, and the more time you spend with it, the more it begins to feel like the Nevermind of 00's Electronica.

11. El-P - Fantastic Damage (2002)

It took me a long time to appreciate Fantastic Damage fully. I can recall downloading and deleting it at least 4 times throughout my long-term exploration of the underground hip hop scene. It just always seemed so inferior to Cannibal Ox's The Cold Vein in every conceivable way. Mainly, it was just so dense and hard to get into, whereas The Cold Vein was inviting to me because of how spotless and shiny the production felt. Today, however, the lo-fi qualities of Fantastic Damage appeal to me because of their vintage b-boy vibes that I've grown to appreciate moreso than sleek and shiny surfaces. The main turning point for my appreciation of this album came when I took a quick temporary job going door to door, asking for money to help with Obama's economic plans. Of course, if I related Fantastic Damage to the job itself, I'd never listen to it again. (I spent two full days struggling to get donations and was fired because I didn't get a single dollar). Instead, Fantastic Damage reminds me the people who worked there - confident, informed activists using their speaking prowess to get people to help a good cause. They inspired me because, I saw in them what I wanted to master in myself; clear purpose, complete comfort, social anxieties and awkwardness totally dispersed, and the clear ability to really control how they connect with people. There had once been a friend in my life who really stood out to me because of these traits, and here were a colony of people who reminded me exactly of her (one of my trainers even looked like he could've been her brother). The music being played at their headquarters office? Nothing but Fantastic Damage on loop, El-P angrily proclaiming over a sea of wavering distortion and squelching guitar chords, "This is for kids worried about the apocalypse! Do something, prepare yourself, and stop talking shit!" I went home, downloaded El-P's debut one last time and lo and behold...

El-P's style before 2002 was already dense as diamond, but on Fantastic Damage things were taken to an unparalleled level of complexity. Aggressive metaphors, unintelligible, nearly impossible phrasings and rhythmic twists, science fiction references ranging from the obscure to the downright esoteric, all swirling in a smoothee of some of the most menacing, futuristic, acid-soaked, shroom addled soundscapes ever recorded in hip hop history. So the most amazing thing about it, especially compared to some of the works of Aesop Rock or Cannibal Ox, is how the human element is still retained. For example, check out the emergency evacuation noises and hypnoticly bobbing red-alarm bass on "Constellation Funk." El-P's subsequent message - a completely searing attack of the entire structure of the hip hop capitalist machine - is undoubtedly vital, but the delivery is still rooted in sky-high, unrelateable sci-fi fiction... that is, until the second verse, where El-P dishes out a quick summary of his entire musical aesthetic. Very rarely has he ever gotten this sincere and biographical: "See I'm a man for what it's worth, an idea, love it. My family grew up without manhood in its structure, And we were stronger for that fact I do believe so, We held our own against some fuckin' evil people. And now I'm grown and I still can't protect my sister, But I know she has her mother's strength within her, And maybe I can tap that strength and burn with greatness, expose these alcoholic stepfathers and rapists!" If music were compared to television, this wouldn't just be Star Trek... it'd be Battlestar Galactica - one of the only sci-fi series to really appeal to people who aren't sci-fi fans. Admittedly, the most astounding thing about the Def Jux label this past decade has been their unwavering sense of humor, even in the face of their own pitch-black material. But as hilarious and effective as the usual tongue-in-cheek concept-raps on Fantastic Damage are (the shit-grin psuedo love story, "T.O.J," exaggerated b-boy stylings on "Dr. Hellno and The Praying Mantis" and of course, "Stepfather Factory," where A.I. meets The Shining), it's those moments of blue-eyed activism and passionate sincerity that propel it above even the best typical fare for a Def Jux release.

12. Aesop Rock - None Shall Pass (2007)

Riding BART across the bay from SF to Berkeley to hang out with my last girlfriend for weekends this past summer, Def Jux was my most played record label, and this was the single most played album. Coming out of the underground tunnel into Oakland with the sun setting over those industrial looking machines was such a surreal sight when Aesop Rock and El-P were trading obtuse webs of street poetry about flesh eating ants and dove's blood baths in the background. I don't know what those giant metal monsters are for, but every time I see them, I expect them to slowly start moving like humble Brachiosaurs. And every time I can hear the bobbing menacing bass lines and slinking electronic buzzings of an orwellian future... "I stood before the glittery borders of new radius in search of the fabled city of mud and crushed velvet, what I found was a gutter where the love of entertainment meets the lust for blood and demerits, cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, collar pop jolly roger, die motherfucker die."

If you really want to spend some time splitting hairs, try deciding between this, Labor Days, Cannibal Ox's The Cold Vein and El-P's Fantastic Damage. The lines of greatness between the Def Jux catalog are so fine that they barely exist. None Shall Pass is actually the album that people listen to and obsess over the least but hopefully time will reveal the reevaluation it deserves. From the contemplative digitized beeping of the title track to the jagged space-bass of "Bring Back Pluto", None Shall Pass is every backpacker's and hip hop head's dream. El-P only drops just enough to show his continuing growth and maturation as a producer with the cyber-western "39 Thieves" and horrorcore jog, "Gun For The Whole Family", while Blockhead makes his return to glory known with funky, slinking tracks like "The Harbor Is Yours" and "No City". Even Aesop Rock himself pushes his limits, by taking his reputation as the densest lyricist in hip hop and solidifying it even further. Arcane, impenetrable, symbollic and infinitely interpretative, the words of Aesop Rock stand toe to toe with some of the greatest and grandest poets of the past century.

13. M83 - Before The Dawn Heals Us (2005)

My vacation to Chicago was a very mixed experience. On one hand, the second half of the vacation solidified my love of the city - the people, the brick buildings, the clean downtown streets, the seasonal summer weather; as much as I love SF, Chicago spoke to me in ways the bay never could. The towering nature of the few songs from this album that played from my ipod through shuffle were appropriate, considering the immensity and beauty of some of the city's architecture, but what really stuck with me was the tear-jerking disney-influenced whimsicality of "Farewell/Goodbye" when I was in the airport shuttle, driving away from Sears Tower, Marina City and especially Millennium Park. On the other hand, however, the first half of the trip found me struggling to endure some of the most excrutiating emotional abuse I ever allowed myself to be put through (think the frenzied, distorted delerium of "Car Chase Terror"). After getting back to the city, I had time and space to think about things, specifically how I had allowed myself to be sucked into such an emotionally abusive relationship. And it was to the swooping torrents of "Don't Save Us From The Flames" and synthetic skyline pummeling of "Teen Angst" that I slowly began to realize how much my fear of being alone had taken control. So Before The Dawn... inadvertently became my next breakup album, but to pigeonhole it into such a tag would be a downplaying the bigger picture. M83 effectively functioned in very much the same way that getting out of the city did; it exhilerated me, refreshed my mind, inspired passion and perspective, reminding me of my aspirations for life and making me realize that the place I was at and direction I was going wasn't bringing me any closer to those goals. Whereas YHF left me wracked with guilt, sadness and unsureness about my future, Before The Dawn... just left me with clarity.

In the past ten years, Anthony Gonzalez has pulled off some spectacular Brian Eno, Mogwai and My Bloody Valentine imitations, but considering the fact that he initially didn't even know half of the artists he got compared to, the similarities must be coincidence. All the brainchild of M83 has ever wanted to do is ride waves of holy synths, drama, rocket-ship guitars and romance into beautiful, epic oblivion, and if the necessary touchstones to reach that level of hair-raising, mind-blowing grandeur have to be obvious, so be it. In the case of Before The Dawn Heals Us, the end justifies the means. You see, "Safe" and "Lower Your Eyelids To Die With The Sun" are without a doubt the two most beautiful things ever recorded and, as a whole, Before The Dawn Heals Us makes most modern-day emo, a genre supposedly priding itself on its forthright approach to expressing heartbreak and angst, sound like Stephen Hawking singing the standards. This is what the spectrum of human emotion really sounds like; love, loneliness, longing, triumph, fear, all contained within something as cinematic ("In The Cold I'm Standing") as it is earthy ("A Guitar and A Heart"). There's some sort of epic, earth-shattering, timeless, inspiring film to be found here, and Anthony Gonzalez may have decided to record an album instead, but none of the power is lost in the translation.

14. Sunn O))) - White2 (2004)

This has been one of my most recent 5 star albums, and I'm gonna forever correlate it with the recent aftermath of a life-changing chemical-excursionary experience; being hungover, getting a cold, being scared that I've affected my body in a negative way permanently, but also feeling like a new profoundly new and vital person, having my first week of school and too much work while being in a weird state of revelation, fear and sick delirium. There were several times in my strange state of limbo when drifting in and out of sleep on Tylenol while the subterranean lurking of "bassAliens" or the drifting shimmering "Decay2" made me feel like I was had actually died and was waiting to be reborn.

You either love Sunn O))) or you hate them...or so many say, as is the case with most experimental music. Sunn O))) is a special case of experimental, however, because it seems far more common for opinions of them to differ drastically and widely from album to album and person to person. For those who aren't Earth fans, their huge reputation for doom-drone sludge probably doesn't hold much weight. But if your favorite aspect of the Sunn O))) sound is when they're performing animal sacrifices, flirting with the darker sides of human suffering, covering themselves in pig fecal matter, and reading from dark magic textbooks, then White2 is where you need to be. It's the dark texturing, defecation-inducing volume, and drone-centered ideals of Sunn O))) without actually having the drone background. The closest approximation is probably Darkwave Ambient...some of the most terrifying and effective Darkwave Ambient you'll ever hear, actually. "Hell-O-Ween" is what being grinded into tiny bits must feel like. "bassAliens" recreates the experience being chained in a pitch-black prison cell with some monster-like figure you can't quite identify moving in the darkness in front of you. And don't even get me started on "Decay2." The closing long, slow descent into hell is usually excrutiating to listen to. However, like most of White2, in the right frame of mind there's nothing more hypnotizing.

15. Boris - Dronevil (2005)

Moving out is going to be great. It's gonna be low-income living, barely getting by, and traveling long distances to get everywhere, but finally breaking away from the toxic environment of my parents will be worth it. Stacking my money, painting the new house, collecting household items and everything I've been doing in preparation has absolutely needed something monstrous and powerful like Boris to soundtrack it; something that is constantly saying "FUCK YES" every time it's being played, burning walls, busting down doors and making everyone and everything in the room its bitch. That may be why they've become my favorite metal band. The timing is just perfect: there's a dark, evil hellfire behind me and i'm rising out of the chaos like a decimating psychedelic guitar solo.

When listening to Boris, good luck thinking anything other than, "Holy shit, this is so heavy." One constantly feels the weight of their demonic distortion and colossal crescendos tilting and towering, demanding any bystanders to cower in awe of the sheer power. But what's most amazing about their career as a band is all the different ways they've made their fans feel that fear. From epic post-rock to long droning ambient sessions, raging Motorhead-style maniac metal and menacing doom-sludge... Since dropping their debut in the form of a single hour long drone track, the Japanese power-trio never let self-subscribed restrictions come in the way of their mission to become the biggest and baddest metal band on the planet. Their commitment has perhaps even worked against their goal, because as dedicated as their cult following is, the obscure and experimental nature of a lot of their albums has insured their spot below worldwide aknowledgement. But the pay-off is for those willing to dig into the trenches of their large, confusing discography is massive, and the lack of compromise on the part of the band is a huge part of it. Dronevil is a perfect example. Two separate discs meant to be played simultaneously ala' Zaireeka (one with ambient/drone textures and the other with guitar based doom metal) isn't exactly the friendliest format. But if you manage to come across the synced version (or better yet, sync the two manually with two stereos) you will be treated to some of the most immense sounds on the planet. Dronevil is comprised of all the peaks of Feedbacker, Flood or Absolutego without any of the excess. It shakes and shivers, inspires and horrifies, blends into the background or engages note-for-note; it is the exact middle point of everything that the greatest metal band of the decade has aspired to be.

16. Dan Deacon - Bromst (2009)

17. Sleater-Kinney - All Hands On The Bad One (2000)

18. Do Make Say Think - & Yet & Yet (2002)

Through The Lens of Joel Selvin

2009-09-22T10:58:00.000-07:00

Walking through Joel Selvin’s house, one can’t help but feel overwhelmed. Every corner feels jam-packed with souvenirs, concert posters, and other miscellaneous musical paraphenellia framed or held in glass casings. Shelves packed tightly with records extend to the ceiling, giving off the impression that, if not for the necessity of a roof, they would tower through the clouds. The sheer amount of stuff makes the house feels a lot smaller than it is, but it compensates for its crowdedness with the aura of experience and passion it projects. “I put a lot of time and effort and study and work into attaining a position of authority and knowledge and expertise that I try to bring to bear on everything I do.”

Indeed, most of everything that Selvin does suggests he is a music fan first and a journalist second. His resume is a perfect example, entailling much more than his famous 36 years as one of the leading pop music critics at the SF Chronicle.

Granted, those 36 years were important. Many up-and-coming writers aknowledge the influence he’s had, such as Trey Bundy, a contributing writer to SF Weekly and The Chronicle. “He's a Bay Area luminary,” Bundy says, “I've been seeing his byline since I was a kid.”

But Selvin also taught History of Rock Music for 15 years at San Francisco State University, helped contribute to the foundation of Rock related organizations such as H.E.A.R. (Hearing Education and Awareness for Rockers) and Thunder Road (youth rehab center), written 9 music-related books, co-produced albums, including Dick Dale’s popular comeback record from 1993, and even helped form and perform in a band, the Rock Bottom Remainders. Evidently, Selvin doesn’t just write about music; he lives it.

The history of his career is further proof. Selvin is representative of a specific breed of music critics from the late 60s, who were mostly inspired by the groundbreaking coverage of Ralph Gleason, one of the first journalists to write about Rock seriously. Today, a high school dropout becoming a professional Journalist is an alien notion, yet in the late 60’s the ground floor had just been set and was more widely open, especially for someone as passionate about music as Selvin. “When I started writing about Rock music for the Chronicle there weren’t a lot of people doing that. It’s not like there was a wide talent pool to choose from.”

Selvin didn’t have a degree and not much formal training, but as an aspiring field expert, Selvin grew up in a prime environment and time for growth: Berkeley in the 1960’s. “The Jefferson Airplane played on my high school steps after school once. I saw the concert business grow from a small business to something major. I covered the record business going from millions of sellers to ten million sellers.” Indeed, most of his success seems to have come being at the right place and the right time with the right interest. “They didn’t hire me because of my Journalism training!”

But how does an aging commentator for the golden-era of popular Rock music in print deal with the huge Journalistic shifts caused by the changing technology (the internet) over the past decade? Selvin is one of the “godfather” writers who is most affected by the emerging gray areas between amateur blogging and professional, informed Journalism, and he knows it, becoming visibly uncomfortable when the topic is even mentioned. “The internet has an extraordinary amount of misinformation and there’s nothing to really distinguish the good information. It’s out there, but it’s just in a morass of personal opinions and badly-tended websites. So I’m real scrupulous about loaning my writing to the web. It’s so easy to confuse it with someone who has access to the internet and a keyboard of his own. And I have in mind distinguishing myself as a commentator and a thinker and a writer.”

Aspiring Journalists struggle with the same problem. Aaron Light, a Journalism student at San Francisco City College and a writer for his college paper, is one of the many young music enthusiasts who, in the words of Selvin, “feels like they’ve missed the party.”

“It’s such a struggle to distinguish yourself as a writer with the internet,” Light said. “Not only do I have so much more competition, I don’t have such a uniform audience like Rock music writers did back then. There’s more variation in popular music today.”

Selvin, for the most part agrees with this, describing the current state of music as “fragmented,” and “spread out.”

“The world has become this immense banquet of music without a single tightly focused directed movement, say, like the one that went through the pop charts in 1964 behind the Beatles,” Selvin says. “There is no one radio station, concert hall or record store that can encompass that much of popular music fan’s tastes anymore. It’s a bunch of small movements without heads.”

But while Selvin has decided that he will be “shifting a little bit more of his professional focus toward writing books,” he doesn’t completely disregard the possible survival of criticism and journalism in the future. “We are in a sort of social frappe. The Blender is on and because we’re inside being chopped up, we can’t see out. Everything is changing, but the job that newspapers do; the role that we journalists and critics perform in society; that’s not going away.”

The Mars Volta - Octahedron (2009)

2009-06-30T11:37:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

The infinite monkey theorem states that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type any given text, such as the complete works of William Shakespeare.

With The Mars Volta in 2009, there's bound to be an emerging school of thought which purports to use Octahedron as an example of this theory, portraying the body of work from Omar and Cedric as blundering infinity - an endlessly spewing sewage hole of unintelligible spazztastic, progressive nonsense, and viewing Octahedron as a diamond in the rough for its more conventional reliance on prog-ballad structures. We can already see hints of this, with Pitchforkmedia indirectly declaring it the first Mars Volta album worthy of breaking past a 5.0 rating. But don't believe these doubters. As much as the band might have gone off the deep end with The Bedlam in Goliath, it's hard to imagine this radio-friendly album being successful on any level without its influences from the brainy Afro-brothers' prior experimentations. The fact is, based on the songs themselves, Octahedron is pretty damn boring. It's King Crimson balladry 101 through and through, and on long-winded snoozers like "Copernicus" or "With Twilight As My Guide", there's no denying it. The reason it works as well as it does is not because of Cedric's new reliance on his singing voice, nor is it because of the scaling down of overlong track lengths in favor of identifiable song structures. It's the unconventionality that made Bedlam in Goliath so unmemorable that gets the job done on Octahedron.

The difference is a matter of degree. The Mars Volta has never been more subtle with their psychedelic explorations as they are now, and while it may not reach the peaks of their more brain-melting sound, it's definitely a refreshing change of pace that the Drive Like Jehu-influenced acid-drenched guitars and free-jazz undercurrents of "Luciforms" are just identifiable enough to suggest discomfort but not so obvious as to inspire nausea. Similarly, the hallucinatory electronic rhythms of "Teflon" and the teetering walls of jagged riffage of "Halo of Nembutals" never overtake the basic songwriting chops, but are engaging enough to make us forget there isn't much songwriting here we haven't from these guys in the first place. Overall, unlike most of Bedlam, there's very little on Octahedron that feels like a product of random chance. Like The Mars Voltas best work, its success clearly required a delicate balancing act, and those who are usually so quick to dismiss the bands pretensions may find it a lot harder to deny them here.

Tortoise - Beacons of Ancestorship (2009)

2009-06-20T22:49:00.000-07:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Tortoise have always been a band of extremes. Their worst tracks have precisely showcased what's wrong with bands who become obsessed with texture for texture's sake, while their best tracks have probably aged better than any other Post Rock bands, and on every one of their albums you can find at least one example of both. Beacons of Ancestorship is no exception. "Northern Something" is the most listless dubscrape collage they could have made, but coming after something as direct, immediate and driving as the Apparat Organ Quartet homage, "Prepare Your Coffin", who could complain? The extended four-song lapse into dullness triggered by mindless math-punk fusion, "Yinxianghechengqui" may seem unforgivable...until the profound guitar figures and cinematic synth flourishes reveal "Charteroak Foundation" to be the band's best album closer yet.

The problem with Tortoise is that they appear so immersed in progress all the time, and so constantly trying to develop, change and experiment as a band, that it's impossible to find any work of theirs that sticks with a sound and style long enough to leave an impression. Albums like TNT, Standards and Millions Now Living..., as great as they are, will always be held back by the fact that they sound like a band still trying to figure out how to sound, including all of their studio experiments on the final product just to show it, and Beacons suffers tenfold from this. Still though, the band's most homogenous and musically focused album of their career, It's All Around You, was arguably one of their weakest, so perhaps being in a constant state of flux is the best thing for them. Indeed, the best tracks of Beacons are the most progressive ones (The shifting structures of "High Class Slim Came Floatin' In" and "Gigantes", in particular) and many long-term Tortoise fans will probably praise the album as a "return to form," in terms of aesthetic. It was inevitable that one of the major 90's post-rock powerhouses would become this irrelevant by the end of the decade, but at least you could say that, in a musical climate where so many bands have stolen and improved upon their formula, Tortoise still haven't sacrificed their integrity, ideals and adventurism.

Wu-Tang Clan - The W (2000)

2009-05-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

"I must tell you...the clan is a danger to the public...For many men...just to hear of the name fills them with hate and loathing"

"But why? They never hurt anyone!"

"I'm afraid they did...in the past..."

Indeed wise sensei, there once was a time when Wu-Tang striked terror in the souls of even the strongest soldiers. Circa 1999, however, the Wu namesake had lost quite a bit of it's credibility. Each individual member was being watered down and compromised; Method Man had completely sold his soul to Def Jam, long-awaited debuts by Inspectah Deck and U-God turned out to be bland affairs and equally anticipated follow ups to classics by GZA and Raekwon barely featured RZA beats at all, preferring other, less impressive, producers.

Perhaps it was the popularity and hype of Wu-Tang Forever that went to the group's head. If so, however, the quiet release of The W should have been a good sign to fans who might have been disillusioned with the band. Even the cover suggests a less bloated and egotistical focus than Forever, trading in the image of the immense group lined up across the map of a globe, plotting their takeover, for a simple Wu logo looming over a single, plain W. From the first four tracks, this expected "return to form" seems inevitable. Kung Fu samples and analogies feature prominently, the MCs sound recharged and the Rza's signature skeletal sound from 36 Chambers is updated and revamped in way that makes it hit just as hard as it used to. "Careful (Click Click)", in particular, is a murky masterpiece; a swirling collage of vintage sound effects and disturbing minimalism. You also won't hear any complaints here about the lack of ODB. Never mind whether you can stand his crack-addled insanity or not; if his sole contribution, "Conditioner", is any indication, the album benefited from his absence. Without his inconsistent humor, most of the album prefers suffocating atmosphere and cinematic grime, coming off as dark, edgy and fresh as the cover's pitch-black background.

Yet somewhere along the line, The W still becomes just as scattered as its predecessor. You can't help but cringe when Junior Reid's Jamaican-accented voice kicks in on "One Blood Under W". Remember when the band took pride in their "beef with commercial ass-niggas"? They hypocritically become their own worst enemies with a track like this and especially "Gravel Pit". What's most frustrating about the latter, is that the band seems to build it into some sort of earth-shattering centerpiece, giving it an intro where RZA himself hypes it up, and even having it speak for the entire album by releasing it as a single. But all that's delivered is a cartoonish, flinstone-beat, a string of tired shout-outs, and an apathetically sung, generic hook for the chorus.

"Are we safe from the clan, father?"

"Yes, young one...for now...the Clan may have the strongest techniques, but they still haven't sharpened their swords after so many years of usage...just beware!...the Wu-Tang still appears dangerous...they may return to full power soon..."

Mono - Hymn To The Immortal Wind (2009)

2009-05-13T01:44:00.000-07:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

It's easy to understand how Mono has never quite achieved the same level of respect as their post-rock forefathers. There's already been far too many post-rock bands in pretty much every corner of the world, pounding into our heads their philosophy of quiet-loud-quiet dynamics, pushing the limits of epic instrumentals, and for the longest time, yet another Mogwai copycat didn't seem necessary. Even up to last year's (mostly) acclaimed You Are There, it was easy to say that Mono were essentially doing for Post-Rock what Bush was doing for Grunge - introducing the world to a third tier of third-rate artists, in the interest of record companies trying to capitalize on popular musical trends.

But Hymn To The Immortal Wind is a different beast altogether. Perhaps it's the new instrumentation. You Are There didn't even try to step out of Explosions in The Sky's established formula and consequently suffered for it. When they did use instrumentation other than guitars on that album, it felt like they could have just as easily been using more guitars. But enlisting a full-fledged orchestra for their follow-up was the best move they could have possibly done. Songs are clearly written with the new instruments and their capabilities in mind, making the band's usual sound feel much more natural and vital, rather than contrived and redundant. For example, the stunning opener, "Ashes in The Snow" is based on gentle twinkling of glockenspiels, lending actual weight to the layers of guitar riffs, and the swells of strings that accompany the sweeping chords turn what could've easily been another boring exercise into something genuinely affecting. The second half of the same song, meanwhile, sounds like a beautiful collaboration between Ennio Morricone and Hans Zimmer.

So, obviously, before tagging Hymn... as "another post rock" album, expect to encounter traces of hesitation, because the music within shares far more in common with modern classical music. Admittedly, bands like Sigur Ros and Godspeed You Black Emperor may have already laid claim to such intentions, and that's probably why one would think that Hymn..., no matter how good it might be, couldn't possibly reach the same heights as those aforementioned bands. But neither them nor their followers have created anything quite as cinematic as Mono has here. The mind-splitting opener, and the similarly breathtaking closer, "Everlasting Light" (which is every bit as beautiful as it sounds), are worth the price of admission alone, but there are 5 tracks sandwiched in between them, and almost all of them are just as good. Hymn To The Immortal Wind is a startlingly consistent labor of love, crafted track-for-track with a single goal in mind; to show that, even when Post-Rock dies, genuinely moving instrumental music will always be around, fulfilling man's primal need for meaning and capturing the deepest, most romantic emotions through sound-paintings that continually ebb, flow and soar into the stratosphere.

The Hold Steady - Stay Positive (2008)

2009-05-07T02:20:00.000-07:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

I highly doubt there will ever be a band I enjoy listening to more than The Hold Steady. Yes, there are many more talented and versatile bands out there. After all, at the end of the day, The Hold Steady still prefer to describe themselves simply as "Bar Rock", and none of their albums have broken any grounds or anything. But never question their ambition, which has proven itself to be far wider than your everyday bar band. Just listen to the chorus gang shouts and "larger-than-life" bridge of "Constructive Summer". Better yet, just read the lines that Craig Finn is sneering: "We’re gonna build something, this summer! We’ll put it back together - raise up a giant ladder with love, and trust, and friends, and hammers!" There should be no surprise that they're now on Vagrant, sharing their space with artists like Alkaline Trio and Dashboard Confessional. When you figure out the reason why Craig Finn references drinking so much in his songs, his intentions suddenly appear pretty close to Chris Carrabba's. He just wants to get everyone singing along. And with soaring anthems as huge and catchy as "Yeah Sapphire" and "Magazines", his success is practically guaranteed.

Still, when 2009 is coming to its end, Boys And Girls In America is probably going to be looked back on as one of the greatest, straight-up "Rock" albums of the decade, so regardless of how shamelessly enjoyable Stay Positive is, how exactly does it fit into the band's rapidly growing legacy? Both in terms of quality and sound, the answer is somewhere between Separation Sunday and Boys and Girls, although leaning more towards the latter. Plenty of moments touch upon the ragtag, sinister-sounding narratives of the former (see the apocalyptic acoustic passages of "Both Crosses", or the chugging, minor-keyed "Joke About Jamaica"), but overall, thanks to tracks like "Sequestered In Memphis" and the brilliantly anthemic closer, "Slapped Actress", most listeners will probably associate it more with the throwback arena rockers of Boys and Girls. Another reason Stay Positive seems unable to be detached from its predecessor is that the album structure is identical. The driving "Navy Sheets" is comfortably placed as track four, where the same-minded "Same Kooks" sat on Boys And Girls. And instead of "First Night" calming things down after a lightning-charged burst of energy, the equally affecting "Lord I'm Discouraged" functions as the obligatory ballad.

However, rather than come off as redundant, Stay Positive benefits from the blueprint laid out for it. 40 minutes and 11 tracks is an extremely effective format for an album, and while The Hold Steady probably ran the risk of criticism by cutting it so close to their recent-past triumph, the immediacy and craft of almost every single song is undeniable, regardless of what form it's in. Stay Positive is The Hold Steady's least conceptual and adventurous album yet, but it's also their most unabashedly enjoyable one, and besides Boys And Girls, their most consistent one, securing their reputation as the greatest Rock band alive.

Aesop Rock - Bazooka Tooth (2003)

2009-05-05T14:37:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

"Hey Aes, how's it going?"

"EVOLUTIONARYREVOLUTIONARYSPINNINGCRABCAKESINTOWILLIAMTELL'S WHIPPERSNAPPERPIGSNATCHERSLOWBREATHINGFASTFEEDINGFRENZY INTERBREEDINGTHEDAVINCIPINNOCHIOSCISSORHANDSLIKEALONELYBRO RIMSHOTHOBOCLOCKBIFOCALDIVERSIONSINHORATIO'SINTRAVERSIONS BELLIGERENTHODGEPODGENARCISSISTDEVELOPMENTINTOMISHMASH HOGWASHINTRICATEINTERGALACTICSUPERCALIFRAGILISTICTYCOONSWOON MOONCHARACTERLESSMIRRORLESSPREPOSTEROUSMONSTEROUS TYRANOSAURUSEXPIALIDOCIOUS"

"err..."

Remember when Aesop would at least say hi before pummeling you with poetry? The Def Jux-signature style confrontation has usually worked because the artists would lull you into their nightmarish constructs first, and what's more, they would always know when to relent. But Bazooka Tooth doesn't even take the slightest moment to do that, throwing you head-first into pandemonium and never stopping. Triumphing as one of the densest albums ever recorded (possibly second only to Fantastic Damage), it finds the much respected, nasal-voiced underground poet taking his already excessively-complex lyrical style into previously unheard-of levels of incomprehensibility, while shifting his flow and personality as well. Once a weary, world traveler, delivering words of wisdom in a relaxed, detached manner, Aes now sounds positively pissed, aggressively sputtering coked out, yet highly literate, battle raps. Furthermore, unlike Labor Days, where beats were mostly made by somber classicist, Blockhead, Bazooka Tooth features Aes himself primarily handling production duties and crafting beats that are far more tuneless, glitchy and in your face. Just as it sounds, the net result of all these shifts in style is an album that comes off as highly influenced by the rest of the Def Jux label, particularly in emulation of its star pupil, El-P. The influential producer even uses the centerpiece space for his own feud with Esoteric, featuring the scathing diss-rap and album highlight, "We're Famous".

But through its quest to pay homage to the "def jux sound", Bazooka Tooth overlooks having something original to say for itself. What's more is that it reveals a problem as common in underground rap as the lack of talent is in mainstream hip hop; failure to realize that making something inaccessible and obscure doesn't necessarily translate into good music. Tracks like "The Greatest Pac-Man Victory in History" and "Mars Attacks" prove this with pounding webs of jarring percussion and half-assed concepts that both fail to engage. Similarly, most of Bazooka Tooth is exhausting and the amount of effort required to appreciate it fully isn't always worth it.

Sure though, the reasons to hear Bazooka Tooth far outweigh its flaws. Mainly, the material speaks for itself; the hilarious horn-laden "Cook It Up", the militaristic drums of "No Jumper Cables", the fat atmosphere of "Super Fluke", the slinky electronics of "Easy", the drooping horror of "Babies With Guns", the jerking subtleties of "Kill The Messenger" and the list goes on and on. On a simple track-for-track basis, the album is as consistent as one should expect from Aesop Rock and his wordplay is still miles ahead of every other rapper alive. Chances are you won't return to Bazooka Tooth as much as you will Labor Days or Float, and depending on how you listen to music, that might be saying something. But for those fascinated by the impenetrable and with plenty of headphone time to spare, it won’t make a difference. This is quality underground rap and there’s no denying it.

Beck - Stereopathic Soul Manure (1994)

2009-05-04T11:17:00.000-07:00

1.5 ★/3.0 - 3.9

In 1999, Sonic Enemy Records remastered Beck's cassette debut on CD without his permission. When Beck found out, he was furious, and the company halted production. Of course, within the first ten seconds of the opening track, it becomes apparent why. Golden Feelings sounds like it was recorded by a belligerent drunk. But could you blame Sonic Enemy for releasing such an inane recording into a discography that includes something as grating and befuddling as Stereopathic Soul Manure?

Beck is right, however, in that Stereopathic Soul Manure has something that most poorly performed, lo-fi rubbish doesn't (his own included). All the grating, completely pointless noise and talentless acoustic mish-mashing of Golden Feelings is here, but it's been enhanced by an undeniable sense of humor and charm. I challenge you to listen to that nervous runt deliver his ridiculous bullshit stories ("8.6.62", "11.6.45", "8.4.82") without laughing out loud or the witty hoe-down, "Satan Gave Me A Taco" without smiling extensively. Some might say the fact that there's actually some genuine attempts at songs here is what makes it worth hearing, but I'd counter that simple songs like "Rowboat", "Modesto" and "The Spirit That Moves Me" are just as forgettable in their cleanly-recorded, country stylings as "One Foot In The Grave" is in its pedestrian blues or "Tasergun" in its listless sludge. No, the real reason to listen to Stereopathic Soul Manure at all, is to hear a man's story of finding an unopened bottle of beer by a dead wild cat, or to hear Beck's priceless Ozzy Osbourne imitation. But seeing as how it is the music we're dealing with here...

Caribou - Andorra (2007)

2009-05-01T15:23:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Like most musical artists, Daniel Snaith aims to use sound to express emotions. But coming from a genre that's known for it's disregard of humanity (IDM) and possessing a songwriting style that's appropriate for such a background, this has to be quite the challenge. The disconnect between the title of his last album and the sounds within only further proves that. If Daniel had any sincerity with titling his debut as Caribou, The Milk of Human Kindness, it was completely lost on the album's contents; sterile, Krautrock-rooted jamming and genre-hopping nods to record geeks.

The sound of his follow-up however, suggests that maybe the two album names just got mixed up on Daniel's cutting room floor. There's far more "human milk," so to speak, on the first two tracks of Andorra than on the entirety of its prequel. Admittedly, tracks like "Sundialing" and "Niobe" are still tightly constructed with precise, unforgiving rhythms and intensely satisfying build-ups, and electronics still form the basis for most of these songs (See the brilliantly sampled and looped "doo doo doos" of "She's The One"). But whereas the debut came off as mechanical and unforgiving, Andorra's sun soaked glory manages to express something much more than the sum of it's precise polyrhythms and calculated constructs.

Or perhaps it's much less, because if you trek through it's computer driven dense noodling looking for the source of it's humanity, you'll overlook that Andorra is just a plain fun record, filled with Zombies-style sunshine pop, soaring choruses and outlooks as simple as "love is nice". Maybe that's why it works. It sounds as if Daniel came to terms with what he could and couldn't express with his style, and made a rational compromise; to perfectly match his superficial backdrops with equally superficial emotions, crafting an album that's bursting with signs of organic growth and moments of beautiful grace.

Nine Inch Nails - Pretty Hate Machine (1989)

2009-03-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Since day one, Trent Reznor has always been a better producer and songwriter than a front-man and performer. His background in theater clumsily translated into a career plagued by an unhealthy fixation on melodrama. Even Reznor's biggest supporters have probably always had a hard time defending the most frequent criticism of Nine Inch Nails, and especially Pretty Hate Machine: the abysmal lyrics. Usually, skeptics of the landmark industrial-crossover album will avoid dealing with any of the music (mainly because it's near-perfect), and instead whip out a list of the lyrical-sheet's biggest offenders, which falls to the floor and consists of at least one line on every single track; "how can you treat me like this, after you taught me how to kiss", "slipping on the tears you've made me cry", "grey would be the color, if I had a heart", "I still dream of lips I never should have never kissed" (Reznor seems to have a 3'rd graders obsession with kissing), and a host of other "cat-in-the-hat-delivered-by-an-angsty-leather-clad-teenage-goth-isms" are inherent in Reznor's delivery, making all his brooding and shouting feel a little cartoonish. As a matter of fact, on "Something I Can Never Have", where his voice is front-and-center, driving the entire minimalist ballad, it almost becomes too much to handle, and when you realize that Reznor would go on to craft much more subtle and affecting ballads thereafter ("Hurt", "Another Version of The Truth", "Lights in The Sky"), this song becomes an enormous, overlong pitfall disrupting the otherwise flawless sequencing of everything else. Of course, to like Nine Inch Nails at all, you have to embrace the infantile nature of Reznor's poetry, but even after doing so, Pretty Hate Machine can never quite rise above a near-masterpiece because of that steaming pile of failure in the center.

But Pretty Hate Machine is still a 'near-masterpiece'. The usage of keyboards, electronics and digital noise exhibited in almost every moment of the album are what make it one of the high points of 80's production, and while that means that listening to the album today makes it feel a little dated, like most of keyboard-heavy music from the decade, it doesn't change the fact that, for its time, this fusion of industrial, pop and dance was unique and breathtaking. The first 3 lead-off tracks and singles all exhibit brilliant hooks on the surface, urban polyrhythms under the exterior, and generally brilliant composition, while the electro-punk of "Sin", dramatic changes of "That's What I Get" and punchy slap-bass driving the infectious grooves of "Sanctified" and "The Only Time" push the album into classic status.

Over time, Reznor's studio wizardry would proceed to evolve and get even better in some ways, while his over-the-top delivery would stick around and fester. But no matter what changes he would proceed through (or avoid), whether for good (Year Zero) or bad (The Fragile), the Nine Inch Nails moniker would never achieve quite the same muscularity and consistency it captured here.

The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love (2009)

2009-03-08T19:40:00.000-07:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Now this is the way that artists should do things; an organic evolution with a constant slope and none of that inconsistent ducking and playing around with genres and style variations that almost every band seems to go through at some point in their career. The Decemberists are too professional for that. They had been hinting at something like Hazards of Love for almost a decade, with each new chapter in their discography taking things slightly deeper, at a pace of change that has been so gradual and delicate that it hardly feels like there's been a change at all. The move from their early-period Neutral Milk Hotel-isms to the multi-suite songs of their mid-period career never once felt self-conscious, and their next leap into straight-ahead prog on The Tain and The Crane Wife was equally level-headed. Every step felt like a goal, and the following step forward would only serve to reveal the last stage as transitional. But now we finally arrive at an end-point - A full length, full fledged Rock Opera. Of course, there still might be something beyond this. Perhaps this is just yet another a step to something even bigger (if such a beast of an album is even possible). But for now that hardly matters, because the resulting LP is a joy to listen to. The band was once just sitting in the shadow of Jeff Magnum's fully realized folk project, but now they've stepped out of it and offered a sprawling near-masterpiece of their own, that even stands toe to toe with In The Aeroplane Over The Sea at a handful of moments.

Those moments include the beautiful title track, the jagged and chilling lead single, "The Rake Song", which describes, in horrifying detail, mass infanticide, and the beautifully grandioise finger picking of "Margaret in Captivity". More brilliance crops up in "Won't Want For Love", "Repaid" and "The Queen's Rebuke/The Crossing", which all take sensational cues from Black Sabbath, lurching and overflowing with ravaged distortion that perfectly matches the anger of Meloy's various characters at key moments, and both versions of "The Wanting Comes In Waves," housing one of the album's greatest hooks (second only to the spine-tingling chorus of the passionate and fiery "Annan Water").

But before the end of this review, apologies must be made for the NMH references, because it's a tad misleading. There's nothing "indie" about The Hazards of Love. This is pure Prog, without any compromises, and when it does give in, as on the conventional structure and corny ending of the last track, the album falters. The best thing about Colin Meloy's songwriting is how its simplicity and immediacy allows all the complimentary jamming, charming instrumentation and storytelling prowess to come naturally, and the first 16 tracks deliver that in spades, creating a fun catalog of Now That's What I Call 70's Prog that deserves to be replayed and memorized note by note, line by line, like all the best Rock Operas.

Sunset Rubdown - Random Spirit Lover (2007)

2009-03-05T11:35:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

When it comes to Wolf Parade, Spencer Krug has made the band for me and not just because of the absolutely perfect song that is "I'll Believe in Anything". His style of songwriting is just more dense. Boeckner is the brute of the band and Spencer Krug is the poet. This is even clearer when you compare Boeckner's band, The Handsome Furs to Krug's band, Sunset Rubdown. Whereas the former band's album from this same year is the sound of simple pleasures (hooks and synths, oh boy!), Krug takes the high-art route.

Lyrically, he's clearly a storyteller of the highest order, in full control of his densely packed imagination, singing of fantastic worlds inhabited by aristocrats, royalty, magicians and tricksters. Disturbingly cryptic imagery surround each songs' brief stretches of beautifully yearning sincerity, forming a dense labyrinth of lines that will have you reading deeply into the lyrics sheet in ways that few, besides Jeff Magnum perhaps, inspire one to do. But furthermore, unlike the sometimes underwhelming Shut Up I Am Dreaming, the compositions here soundtrack the unpredictability of his freakshow-theater lines perfectly. These songs are ragged yet enormous, spiraling, inspiring, and stunning in their ability to balance intimacy with power. A full minute of trash can percussion, spinning layers of a capella vocals and some of Krugs' most vulgar phrasings unexpectedly erupts into a melody that never leaves your head on "The Courtesans Have Sung". "Stallion" casually creaks and cackles disturbingly under it's woozy piano and dissonant guitar riffs, while "Trumpet, Trumpet, Toot!" basically ascends for 5 minutes straight. But "Magic Vs. Midas" is where the breaths really get taken away. Coming after the sensational rocket-car guitars and feverishly anthemic passages of "The Mending of The Gown", the song is perfect; a comfortably settled series of delicate metaphors, acoustic pickings and charmingly ramshackle crescendos, all held together by some of the greatest poetry of the decade. It's genuinely tragic that the song writing gets just a tad too obtuse in parts of the album's second half. Had Krug treated some of the later slow tracks and transitions ("Setting Vs. Rising", "Child-Heart Losers", sections of "Colt Stands Up, Grows Horns") with the same memorable craft as his centerpieces, this could have been something really special, perhaps even surpassing Wolf Parade's last big release. As it stands though, Random Spirit Lover still contains some of the most magical moments you can find in indie rock today.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz! (2009)

2009-03-03T00:05:00.000-08:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

It's almost too obvious that The Yeah Yeah Yeahs should never have gotten as big as they did after Fever To Tell. The problem is that Karen O and company have always sounded best when you could hear their filthy NYC garage background (see the early EPs). Nick Zinner's monstrous razor-blade guitar, Brian Chase's precise yet minimalist drumset and Karen O's desperate shrieks captured a sound that was positively vital at the time. On their debut LP, emotive tracks like "Maps" and "Y Control" worked because they were the exceptions and therefore managed to deepen the bands signature cacophony. But instead of using that as a stepping stone, they foolishly made it a blueprint and stumbled into a field that was dominated by countless bands already. Show Your Bones was Alternative Radio 101; as inoffensive and utterly lifeless as it could possibly be without actually being bad.

So that's why it might be hard to shake off the feeling of disappointment from It's Blitz. Even if their song-craft has improved from their last effort, the bottom line is that they're still stumbling in the wrong field for them and it couldn't be more obvious since they're now messing with Electro Pop and New Wave. Ultimately, the best thing to take away from It's Blitz is that, with a mastermind as consistently brilliant as David Sitek behind the board, they could easily get back on track at any time. His noisy, mind-blowing studio magic tricks are what make The Yeah Yeah Yeahs unambitious vision on It's Blitz worth hearing. The dangerously radiating laser beam synths on "Zero", the noisy wall of majestically towering sound on "Skeletons", the backwards yawning on "Soft Shock", the staccato horns coming in at the end of "Hysteric" and the twin fluttering guitars on dance-punk beast, "Dragon Queen", all seem to benefit from the cues they take from last years' major album of the year, Dear Science. But therein lies the problem. Ultimately, this is just a watered down version of Dear Science. Whenever Sitek steps back to let the front-people do their thing, The Yeah Yeahs Yeahs hardly distinguish themselves. Sure, they've got an ear for a hook or two, and Karen O still sounds great, but a braver band wouldn't waste their time dramatizing new age stinkers like "Heads Will Roll" or "Little Shadow", grandstanding on the overlong "Runaway" or dulling up the already-dull "Dull Life" with a series of power chords The Offspring wouldn't mind using. The band deserves credit for trying something new, as well as crafting an album that feels fully formed, but once you strip away the gloss and sheen from the highlights, this is a hollow indie-lite affair.

Red Light Company - Fine Fascination (2009)

2009-03-01T17:02:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

There's no denying it; Youth is wasted on the young. Of course, many would beg to differ with various, perhaps legitimate, arguments. Acne, raging hormones, drama, high school, living with the parents, locker room antics and regularly following regrettable fads in order to "fit in", are all things that we, as adults, are probably glad to have gotten out of the way early. But then there's that intangible spark of idealistic longing that, over time, through the pain of responsibility, hardens into cynicism. The absence of that is a little more tragic, and Fine Fascination fulfills the very basic need to relive those past glories and optimistic times. The album is utterly charming for the way it perfectly captures the nature of youth, complete with sneering boyish vocals, hopeful crescendos, and a musical slant towards immediate pleasures; soul-affirming, arena-rock gestures and pop hooks. Seeing as how Los Campesinos! and, to a certain extent, Frightened Rabbit, beat them to the punch last year, the album will probably be extensively criticized for lack of originality. Quoted from the lines of one of the exuberant centerpieces, "The Architect", Red Light Company can mimic and deliver, but they don't really know how. Still, they only fail in the endearing way that most teens usually do; earnestly reaching for the stars, without the slightest clue about how far away they actually are. Fine Fascination still triumphs as a consistently satisfying 40 minutes of wistfulness, from the jagged bar rock of "Words Of Spectacular" to the rumbling bass, space and explosive climax of "When Everyone is Everybody Else". Whip out your lighters, warm up your air guitar skills and prepare for some quality nostalgia.

MF Doom - Born Like This (2009)

2009-02-19T18:17:00.000-08:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Daniel Dumille truly is a villain. After almost four years of terrorizing his fans with inactivity and rumors of imposters on stage at his shows, he finally drops an album self-described as "encapsulating but surpassing all of his previous work", and it turns out to be nothing more than a glorified compilation! But wait, since when did calling something a compilation become a criticism? Don't compilations benefit from being able to take the absolute best of an artist's career and tie them into a single listening experience? Green Day's major compilation album, International Superhits remains their most acclaimed album, even better than what many may consider their masterpiece, Dookie. Similarly, Born Like This triumphs as a simple collection of some of Doom's best ideas in the past 4 years of dormancy.

Certainly though, the villain has had albums with much better beats than this. There's not quite a "Rap Snitch Knishes" on Born Like This nor anything that compares to the better half of King Geedorah's Take Me To Your Leader (although a handful of tracks get pretty close, such as "Still Dope," featuring a typically vicious performance by Empress Stahhr), but Doom makes up for the lack of an obvious centerpiece with simple consistency. From start to finish, there's barely any weak tracks. "Gazillion Ear" is as fascinating as J Dilla ever got, featuring a puzzling side step into lush spirals of middle-eastern synths, "Cellz" perfectly traverses the tightrope between silly and terrifying and "Absolutely" finds Madlib toying with a beautifully relaxing drone, and getting mouths watering for a true Madvillainy sequel. Initially, a couple of the Jake One produced tracks appear to be low points, such as "Microwave Mayo" or "More Rhymin," but over time they become simple pleasures; understated, catchy and functioning as essential transition tracks with subtle intricacies that move the album forward. Besides, Jake One more than pays his dues in terms of immediacy with his instant classic single, "Ballskin," as well as the subterranean, pounding "Rap Ambush".

Yes, some of these tracks have been used before. Yes, the snare that's been added to the otherwise brilliant Ghostface collaboration, "Angelz," couldn't be more distracting. And yes, "Bumpy's Message" is completely pointless. But all of the inconsistencies, random inclusions, and hodgepodge elements are what makes it so definitively Doom. Such arbitrary recklessness has always been an essential part of the Dumille persona and to criticize any single album of his for that haphazard quality is to miss his point of his "villain" aesthetic. If you disconnect yourself from any preconceived notions of what should go into a perfectly constructed album, then Born Like This quickly reveals itself to be one of Dumille's many shining moments; a brilliant epilogue to one of the most prolific and rewarding careers in hip hop today.

Clipse - Lord Willin' (2002)

2009-02-09T15:43:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

The Neptunes have been beat geniuses since they jumped on the scene, but the next big step in staking a truly significant piece of the global producers pie, is always to get behind the board of an entire album from start to finish. Sure enough, in 2002, riding on the hype of songs by Jay-Z, Mystikal, Britney Spears and countless others, they contributed all of their talents to the debut of Clipse, even going as far as to make their own record label for its release. However, as a first chapter, it's a little disjointed. On Lord Willin, The Neptunes signature style is still miles ahead of the copycats it once inspired, but when stretched across the course of a full album, the mainstream cliches it's mired in becomes a little too obvious, especially on overtly exhibitionist tracks like "Ego" or "Gangsta Lean". Of course, the Neptunes' missteps with those tracks might have been forgivable if rappers, Malice and Pusha T, didn't swagger their obnoxious gangsterisms so boisterously. Discordantly delivered choruses like "Don't let cha ego trick yo ass, cause this muthafuckin tech will get yo ass" completely eclipse Pharrell and Chad's consistent sense of high quality production, exposing their attachment to the genres' stereotypes and making the listening experience a little mundane.

Still, whenever the MC duo reigns in their "in-your-face" attitude, their incessant boasting and one-dimensional, gritty tales of drug dealing actually showcase some serious wit. What Malice and Pusha T seem to overlook is that their voices already sound menacing as hell without even trying. When they make any further effort to increase the rage, it's just sounds over the top. Thankfully, they don't resort to those extreme gestures too often, allowing The Neptunes to generate their usual gorgeous strut-offs ("Ma, I Don't Love Her"), easy going smoke-offs ("Virginia"), a lush urban anthem ("I'm Not You") and a bunch of tracks that are quite enjoyable, despite the lack of replay value. Plus, there's the unstoppable singles, featuring two of the greatest beats the Neptunes have ever put to tape. "When The Last Time" is a refreshing slice of limb-jerking, inner-city tension, although it definitely boasts a hook of some sort, even if the squawking synths would sound positively dissonant if isolated. But there's no easy way into "Grindin", a song that needs to be heard at max volume, cruising in a car with heavy bass sub-wafers and all the windows rolled down. The beat is a skeleton without any flesh; subterranean mouth pops kick in for the chorus, but otherwise it gets by with nothing but hand claps, finger snaps and shutting metallic doors. It's a song that was clearly made to consume, cause chaos and inspire rebellion. Pump the stereo and submit yourself to the insanity.

New Found Glory - Not Without A Fight (2009)

2009-02-06T13:09:00.000-08:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

It might be hard to admit, but most of the tracks on New Found Glory's self titled album and their follow up, Sticks And Stones are extremely catchy, accomplished pop punk, with hooks and chainsaw guitar riffs that appeal just as much to fans of Journey and power-pop as much as they would to teenage mallrats and fangirls making the transition from boy bands to "real" music. And because of those endlessly replayable arena rock anthems, I will openly admit to counting New Found Glory among a mental list of bands whose releases I keep up with. There's also all the fond memories of reckless youthful abandon that I associate with those albums. I grew up listening to interchangeable, dumb, trashy pop-punk like this and while there are so many reasons to hate it, I find myself coming back to it time and time again for the nostalgia.

Ordinarily, at this point in the review, I would explain in what way this tangent about the bands' earlier works is relevant to their newest release. Unfortunately, that wasn't my intention. The fact is, there is nothing to talk about with this album. It's just the same old shit, with a quarter of the vitality the band once had. They were once dependably second rate, but now they're more like fourth or fifth. I was just ranting about their old material, because when faced with music this redundant, boring and predictable, the only thing I can do is curl up into my bubble of security and struggle to recall a time when pop-punk was everything to me. Expect to do the same when your fondest memories of the past get shat all over by the depressing reality of the present.

The Jesus Lizard - Liar (1992)

2009-02-03T19:12:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

David Yow hates you. You probably didn't do anything to him, but rest-assured, he's already plotting to do horrific things to you and your dog. He's the kind of guy you don't want to run into on the street. He's the raving lunatic you see in the back of the bus, muttering expletives and twitching. He's the infected from 28 Days Later, coughing up blood and violently reaching for the nearest life form to savagely murder. And on Liar he treats everyone like they've just spit in his face. From the moment the album begins with the vicious "Boilermaker", he plows down the front door in a violent flurry of raving nonsense. Hard to stomach? You bet. But for the abrasive brutality conjured up throughout this album, his voice is perfect.

Liar is military in it's execution and relentlessness. It hits harder and more precisely than it's predecessor, resembling a sniper rifle, rather than the widespread shotgun-like chaos of Goat. In other words, The Jesus Lizard and their style of staccato insanity have never been tighter. Tracks like the pummeling "Art Of Self Defense" and "Boilermaker", with it's gattling gun style guitar breaks, define manic and driving. There's also the interesting stylistic variations that Goat was known for, such as "Rope", a frantic rodeo in hell; "Whirl", a dizzying trip through a demented circus funhouse; and "Puss", which is practically a pop song. But Liar doesn't quite match the brilliance of Goat because it seems to trail off near the end. "Zachariah" is an admirable attempt at slowing down that falls flat and "Dancing Naked Ladies" starts off nicely, but feels disappointing when it doesn't go anywhere. Still, it's The Jesus Lizard's angriest release and one of their best. If you need a soundtrack for going on a killing spree, this is it.

Funkadelic - One Nation Under A Groove (1978)

2009-01-19T21:46:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Albums like these are the reasons why the term "overrated" exists. Looking at the journalistic ratings and reviews fluctuating around on the web, there seems to be very few critics who view One Nation Under a Groove as any less than a perfect album. But seriously, are these people listening to the same album I am? The title track is good but how songs like "Grooveallegiance" and "Who Says A Funk Band Can't Play Rock" went on to become fan favorites, should be classified as one of those baffling unsolved mysteries of the world, alongside Stonehenge and The Bermuda Triangle. The former is simply an awkward and meandering attempt to integrate Reggae, while the latter sounds like it was written by the cast of Sesame Street. Yeah, there are good parts in both of them (mainly the jam sections) but why in the world would anyone want to slog through the silly, forced, weakly structured songs they're attached to when there's almost no limit to the same brand of jam-band perfection in the rest of the Funkadelic discography already? However, in defense of the critical consensus, things get significantly better thereafter. Scat-Porn groove, "P.E. Squad/The Doo-Doo Chasers", is actually a lot less repulsive than it sounds. As a matter of fact, with soulful breakdowns, inspired guitar solos and hilarious one-liners it remains one of the smoothest, sexiest and most refreshingly natural tracks written under George Clinton's reign. The next two songs feel just as relaxed, and create a nearly flawless second half, that makes up for the fractured first half. Don't let the critics fool you; it's not crazy to think that every Funkadelic album released on Warner Bros. failed to reach the heights of their Westbound works...but despite its flaws and obvious attempts to replicate Parliament, One Nation Under A Groove is the sole exception, retaining a personality and coherence that definitely makes it worth owning. Still, even those who consider the album a shining light surrounded by the darkness of Funkadelic's later days, will probably have a hard time really accepting it as one of their masterpieces.

Funkadelic - Let's Take It To The Stage (1975)

2009-01-16T00:29:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Cliffnotes: Summaries And Commentaries for Funkadelic by George Clinton

Part One: Chapter 7

Summary: George emerges out of his last particularly violent state of Psychedellic exploration drained. Realizing that another experience of that intensity would be his end, he wisely throws away the rest of his drugs, but almost immediately regrets it. Knowing that, without them, his long suppressed alter-ego, Starchild, would soon begin overtake his personality completely, he decides to embrace this brief moment of sanity, taking in worldly pleasures.

Commentary: Up to this point in George Clinton's semi-biographical magnum opus, the author has taken liberties with extended stream of consciousness rants and abrasive language in order to capture the intensity of his drug experiences. However, with George having Stood At The Verge Of Getting It On, and now beginning a brief sober period, the writer appropriately reels in the blistering words and long stretches of repetition to capture the main characters' sobriety with a more clear-headed and traditional usage of language. The result is that Clinton comes off sounding a lot more like his peer and main influence, Hendrix. While this certainly contains a wealth of pleasures in and of itself; even enough to make this one of the stronger chapters of Funkadelic (especially when compared to the bulk of Part 2: The WB Years), there's no denying that the new direction eventually falls apart, particularly near the end of the chapter when George begins to speak out of character with extended brooding. "Baby I Owe You Something", he whines to his regular prostitute, creating a scene that adds very little to his character. When he finally feels that "The Song is Familliar", the novel enters one of its weakest sections, attempting some interesting "Atmosphere" but mostly coming off as artless and clumsy. It's moments such as when George is getting "Better By The Pound", confidently asking his loved ones to "Be My Beach" and demanding his friends to "Get Off Your Ass And Jam" that we as a reader actually are interested in what becomes of him, because of how they remind us of the relentless excitement and verbal density that stayed so consistent in Funkadelic's early chapters.

Glossary:
"Let's Take It To The Stage" - A phrase that comes to symbolize George's new embrace of the populous he was once so biased against; justifiably one of the chapters' most popular quotes.
"Stuffs And Thangs" - Yet another infectiously catchy euphemism for sex.

Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion (2009)

2009-01-02T12:56:00.000-08:00

5.0 ★/10.0

Some might say that in order to better understand Animal Collective's sound on Merriweather Post Pavilion it would've been beneficial to see them live on one of their recent tours. For about a year, the bulk of the band's sets consisted of many of the songs recorded here, so, for many hardcore fans, it might be easy to assume this is just a compilation of all of Animal Collective's best live moments; a perfect distillation of that enchanting feeling one got from watching them. Surely, if this recorded material could only be called one thing, it would be "enchanting". And the live Animal Collective experience is certainly every bit as seductive. They usually play the songs without gaps, strung together by drones and fragmentary interludes, creating the simulation of one long track. When surrounded by innumerable dancing and sweating bodies, and blinded by a hallucinatory lighting design, the music takes on a captivating element of hypnotic bliss. For this past year, watching Animal Collective live was like stepping into another world.

But to say that Merriweather Post Pavilion is just a performance document and a treat for the fans would be lessening its distinct monumental value as an album. As a matter of fact, this material could only have been made for headphones; there's just too much going on at any given moment to be properly translated with a live show. The hooks of "My Girls" are undeniable in any form, but the subtleties of the songs' erratic and gradually diversifying drum-and-bass beat was never as exhilarating as it is here. On the surface, "Guys Eyes" is a simple melody delivered with a soulful undistorted piano and stick percussion, but it takes dozens of in-depth listens to separate all the swirling layers of voices from one another. Furthermore, Pet Sounds b-side, "Bluish", was never even played live, but on the album it's clearly one of the best songs; a flawless pop centerpiece holding both halves of the album together.

It's also important to take into account that some songs don't stand up individually too well. Live, "Also Frightened" was just a messy collage of sounds and electronics but with the benefit of close listening, the groove-oriented rhythm and soaring breaks are given room to breath and fit appropriately into the sequencing. Similarly, "In The Flowers" once seemed to be a listless and underwhelming ballad, but when set as the opening track, it's perfect. The song opens with indecipherable noise, as if to signify all the obstacles from your daily life, before Avey Tare's otherworldly chants lulls you into a calm. He slyly suggests a form of relief; "If I could just leave my body for one night..." All of a sudden the band shows what he's talking about, with a blast of holy radiation. Heavenly synths rain down from the skies and the listener is drawn straight into the world of Merriweather Post Pavilion with the intention of discovering the euphoria this intro has hinted at.

With that mission statement, the rest of the album even appears to take on an almost Odysseus-like pilgrimage, which makes it resonate deeply on a conceptual level and further distinguishes it from a collection of "songs from the shows". Assuming that the tripped out album cover is not a coincidence, the album could be seen as an argument for subconscious exploration, whether that journey is embarked upon through drugs, dreams, music or any other form of therapy. The first track resembles going to sleep and entering the sub consciousness; taking the drug; beginning the album. The following eight tracks represent the deranged trip through the minds' tangled weaves with various ups and downs. The textural feast, "Daily Routine", for example, is practically a wrestling match with the self. It begins with a bright synth making noise at arbitrary intervals, taunting the listener. But it soon gels together, becoming a piercing hole in the clouds, and raining light at the end of each of Panda Bear's joyful lines, as if leading us on. At the bridge, the hole in the cloud finally stays open and widens, letting the light swallow everything up into a binding fog. The epiphany that the listener is looking for seems to almost be reached; but at this early stage of the album, it's clearly just as frightening as it is revelatory. Panda Bear's voice is malformed and surrounded by a formless haze, reverb and powerful piano chords swirling about before somberly drifting away. "Summertime Clothes", a single-worthy pop song, is much more clear-headed and positive sounding, but it's still inseparable from the mental muck; the sound of two sheets of metal being rhythmically rubbed together recreate a shroom trip, with everything moving, breathing and blurring together. "Lion in a Coma" goes on to reflect this confusion lyrically: "Sometimes I'm not aware where I am or what I care, Sometimes I'm well-to-do but I don't know what to do!" After a long stretch of fake-outs and misadventures though, a definite epiphany is reached on the simple yet beautiful "No More Runnin"...and it's surprisingly quiet. Nighttime finally falls in the mystical land of Merriweather Post Pavilion and the narrator seems ready to face his fears and challenges head on: "No more runnin...it's what I hoped for..." yawns a collection of sleepy voices in the distance. The final track, "Brothersport" takes that new initiative and charges forward with a fiery determination; straight faced optimism is abound with chants like "you've got to open up your throat!" and "You gotta have a real good time!" After a wonderful bridge in which Animal Collective get as close to Trance as they've ever gotten, the song breaks into one last orgasm of harmony. For 2 minutes, the culmination of all this soul searching is chanted repeatedly over a relentless hook: "You've got so much inside, let it come right out!" When it finally ends, don't be surprised if the colors of the world suddenly appear brighter.

But even discounting the conceptual worth of Merriweather Post Pavilion, there's something inexplicably perfect about its overall sound. Songs like "Taste", a magnetized wall of sound functioning as an electro-vaudeville carnival romp, and "Lion in a Coma", a didgeridoo led drum circle, rank among some of the most creative songs in the bands' entire library, and the fact that they're merely minor complimentary songs in the scope of the album, is a clear indicator of the bands' growth. it seems that Animal Collective has utilized all the best parts of all of their past incarnations and none of their weaknesses to craft Merriweather Post Pavilion ranging from the single-mindedness and natural drones of Feels to the Pop centered outlook and electronic gurgling of Strawberry Jam, and even collecting some of the Brian Wilson worship from Person Pitch. It's the album they've been working towards making their entire career; their Dark Side of The Moon. I mention that album (instead of the more obvious touchstone, Pet Sounds), because if Radiohead is The Beatles of the decade, then Animal Collective is the Pink Floyd. Equally critically acclaimed, the band has taken the basic elements of underground music's most popular trends, perfected them, and gone beyond, into the spaced out unknown, not only influencing countless indie and underground bands in their immediate wake, but also subtly expanding the language of all music, and allowing it to evolve organically into the 21'st century. Perfection is not a strong enough word for a band as vital as Animal Collective. Artistically, this is one of the absolute peaks of our era.

Pink Floyd - Ummagumma (1969)

2008-12-23T18:19:00.000-08:00

1.5 ★/3.0 - 3.9

Wisdom teeth. Male nipples. Tonsils. Fortune cookies. Spam email. Gossip. The National Enquirer. Silly Putty. Reality television. Antique Roadshow. North Dakota. Paris Hilton. Livejournal. Myspace. Internet Memes. 80% of the internet, for that matter. Chopsticks. Golf. The Grammy Awards. Infomercials. Wonder Bread. Watching paint dry. Miss Cleo. Any one of those "world's largest... whatever" sites that are usually in the middle of nowhere. Tay Zonday. American Idol. William Hung. Pre-ripped pants. Puff Daddy's constant name changes. Boy Bands. Stamp collections. Breakfast burritos. Steven Seagal movies. The color, beige. Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. This guy.

And now, I would like to congratulate Pink Floyd, for their latest addition into the Hall of Tame; a collection of some of the most useless, pointless and straight-up boring things in the world! I'm not talking about that pesky "exciting" and "fascinating" live disc; heavens no! I'm strictly dealing with the strikingly bland studio material of Ummagumma. Not even David Gilmour's attempts at sabotage, with lush contributions and interesting musical textures, were able to derail the listlessness and apathy that the bulk of this album inspired. Ranging from animal noises to completely emotionless droning sounds, the second disc of Ummagumma has always been the subject of intense debate. But we on the National Board of Boredom hope that it's inclusion into the Hall of Tame will hopefully allow everyone to recognize this collection of aimless instrumental meandering and found sounds for what it really is:

a hollow, soulless piece of shit. You've been warned.

Common - Universal Mind Control (2008)

2008-12-22T12:22:00.000-08:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Fade in on the schoolyard. Common sits on a bench, watching all the other boys as they brag, boast and taunt their way through a particularly loud and coarse game of Dodgeball. Usually an optimistic and clear-headed straight A student, he holds a somber look on his face, still bothered by his mediocre grades last year. A flurry of thoughts go through his mind. Perhaps academics isn't everything? Perhaps he should learn to have a little more fun? Perhaps he should make at least some attempt at fitting in. Suddenly, fed up with all the other kids constantly excluding him from their games, he steps up and marches into the crowd...
Common: Hey guys how's it going!
Everyone turns to stare at Common, absorbing his whimpy voice, tame demeanor and depressing sense of fashion; coke bottle glasses, sandals w/ socks and a lunchbox with a peace sign on it. Kanye, the most popular of the group and Common's lone friend, develops a look of concern. Suddenly someone breaks the silence.
Jay-Z: whatcha want, faggot!
Common: ...Well, um...i was wondering if you could...maybe let me in on this game?
There's a long silent pause before the group explodes in a fit of laughter.
Ludacris: Aww, this bitch wants to play with the big boys now!
The wall of roaring laughter continues as Kanye leaves the group and runs over to Common.
Kanye: Look Common, I'm your friend. You know I almost always support you. But this is a little out of your league. Dodgeball just isn't your thing. Why don't you go back to class for lunch? I know Ms. Rosemary could use some help, and she'll probably love that last poem you wrote. I'll meet you there in like 15 minutes.
Common: Hey man, I'm sick of this! I know how your friends constantly talk shit about me! Calling me gay, and pussy, and teacher's pet and nerd. I can talk about girls, and play-fight and Dodgeball just as well as the rest of you! Just teach me how to play and I'll pick it up real quick!
Timbaland: ahhaha! Come on guys, let's give him a shot; it'll be worth a laugh at least.
Kanye: I'm sorry Common but I'm not gonna help you out here. I really don't think this is such a good idea.
Common: well...won't anyone teach me how to play at least!?
Pharrell: eh...I guess I'll help him out.
10 minutes later...
Kanye: OH MY GOD, COMMON WAKE UP PLEASE!
Kanye deleriously struggles to give CPR to Common's unconscious body.
Timbaland: man, he was doing pretty well...
Pharrell: psshh...only when I aimed my tender shots at him. I got just a little aggressive and then all of a sudden, he's sprawled on the floor. And I was barely even aiming too.
The Lesson learned? Always be yourself.

The Clash - The Clash (1977)

2008-12-20T01:39:00.000-08:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

I know I may be shooting myself in the foot here and destroying any traces of credibility I've ever had, but seriously, what was so great about Punk Rock anyways? (Cue the entire punk community screaming in rage at my ignorance). I'm not saying there isn't anything credible about the genre. I've always respected the artists and viewed the movement as integral in terms of it's philosophies, influence and historical significance. Plus, considering the depraved state of Prog at the time, I should also be thankful that bands like The Sex Pistols and The Ramones stepped in to upset the imbalance of power. But do I ever actually enjoy listening to the stuff? Hardly. Mindlessly slamming a series of power chords into the ground and saying it has value just because it's "anti-establishment" has just never struck me as requiring much effort or talent. The best Punk albums are ones that suggest some sort of effort in the studio; an ear for dynamics, hooks, sound/texture, melodies, or anything else that at least hints at some sort of grasp on song-craft. And usually those albums aren't straightforward Punk at all, but could more accurately classified as Pop Punk, Post Punk or Dance Punk; all styles that are usually appreciated for what they share with genres other than Punk.

The Clash's raw, uninspiring debut, however, is uncondensed Punk in it's absolute, purest form and, predictably, embodies everything that there is to love and hate about the genre. Evidence to the former can only be found in short doses; the thrashing chords of "I'm So Bored With The USA", the catchy quick-witted perfection of tracks like "What's My Name" and "London's Burning", the Television-lite jam session on "Police & Thieves", the shaggy riffage on "Protex Blue" and the hungrily distorted guitar solos (almost all of them in every track). But for evidence on the latter, you could look at pretty much everything else, the biggest of which is probably the embarrassingly lazy structures of these songs. None of the progressions within a single song feel like they go with one another, yet all of them are completely and totally interchangeable, and for the life of me, I can't remember any. Before going on to integrate all of the much more interesting genres of the world and eventually becoming my personal favorite of Punk Rock's original "Big 3", The Clash began pretty much like every other Punk band of their ilk; Angry, obnoxious, simple and completely boring.

Protest The Hero - Fortress (2008)

2008-12-15T00:24:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Every once in a while a band emerges out of that ever-constant shit-stream known as modern "emo-core", to remind people of the great aspects of the genre that no one remembers (or never bothered to explore in the first place). Protest The Hero...is not that band. As much as I'd like to see a revitalized interest in the classic emo forefathers like Drive Like Jehu or At The Drive In, the only artist that comes to mind when listening to Fortress is Dream Theater. This is pure Progressive Metal filtered through a hardcore lens. The album's short ten tracks bulge frantically with unpredictable fragments ranging from decimating death metal grooves to soaring hair metal solos, and above all, epic war-torn victory choruses. Indeed, there's so much crammed into each track that even repeated listens doesn't quite unravel all it's joys. Fortress is every bit as impenetrable and dizzying as it's name suggests and, initially, everything just goes by in a blur. But give it enough listens and the impressive song-structures show that they're more than ends to themselves. They become vehicles for the individual moments.

Fortress is, at no point, an album of songs. It's always an album that is propelled by spectacular moments, whether it's the cavernous, bass-led head banging intro of "Bone Marrow", the anthemic Queen-influenced sections of "Palms Read" (including what is easily one of the most grand and majestic musical moments of the year, surfacing at around 3 minutes; a double bass drum, power ballad progression, enhanced by heroicly delivered vocals and intensive guitarwork), or the catchier sections of "Goddess Gagged", undoubtedly inspired by Journey. Breath-taking dynamics are constantly flooding the listener with exhilaration and rousing animation, before abruptly rushing into the next movement as quickly as it came and, over the course of 40 sparse minutes, Protest The Hero achieves a certain schizophrenic euphoria, using their ADD nature to strike an intensely violent and satisfying balance between rapid fire brutality and anthemic glory.

Frightened Rabbit - The Midnight Organ Fight (2008)

2008-12-14T17:19:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Musical pet peeve #42: Albums that open with tracks that are so amazingly heart-stopping that the rest of the album pales in comparison. The sophomore album from Scottish indie band, Frightened Rabbit sets itself up to be just that, from the moment "The Modern Leper" hits it's rushing chorus. Argurably, it is that kind of album, but that's unavoidable when you've written one of the single greatest pop songs of the decade. No matter how many times throughout the album that the duo effectively yanks at your heart strings, or how well "The Twist" evolves into a swirling fist-pumper from fairly simple piano figures, or how much unbridled joy bursting out of the square dance, "Old Old Fashioned," or how much spiraling songs like "I Feel Better" and "Fast Blood" rouse and flail at the brim with a hurricane of emotion, the distant memory of that first track's constipated frustration sticks with you; a sneering voice describing the horrors of full-body leprosy, perfectly matched with a shambling acoustic shuffle and a simple riff distorted to sound like a dying rat. It's the brilliance of contrast epitomized in less than 4 minutes. As suggested though, the rest of the album is well-spent. Listening to The Midnight Organ Fight is actually a lot like listening to Badly Drawn Boy's Hour of The Bewilderbeast. There's no denying what a great pop album it is, but it's also difficult to avoid the fact that it's walking on the fringes of something painfully generic. Just as Damon Gough quickly embraced glossy production and shitty anthems for soundtracks, Frightened Rabbit could just as easily be The Fray or any other shitty arena band, under the right restrictions. Still, whatever may become of them later, the band has mastered a stirring and unrestrained style of emotive pop here.

Ludacris - Theater of the Mind (2008)

2008-12-14T16:33:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Fact: Ludacris is severely underrated.

As a rapper, his cartoonish personality and touch of southern drawl perfectly supplements his unstoppable collection of hilariously clever allegories and similes, and even if he doesn't have much to say besides the usual bragging, boasting and "hos-N-dro" talk, he definitely pulls it off with more authority, character and off-the-wall tongue-in-cheek than most of the peers he shares the billboard charts with. He's got charisma, wit and charm and that's all an MC needs really.

Sadly, he's also always been a businessman at heart and so all his albums in the past have balanced every playful, off-kilter and completely unique production with mainstream flirtations, ranging from cliche crunk to generic club bangers ("Move Bitch," I'm looking at you). In this sense, Theater of the Mind is not a surprise, clear from it's guests stars. But surprisingly, the tracks where the worst offenders show up are some of the album's best tracks. T-Pain's Autotone is perfectly suited for the smooth, sexy vibes of "One More Drink." And the cinematic symphony on "Last of A Dying Breed" makes up for the Lil Wayne appearance. It's the lone thing that Ludacris' latest has over all it's predecessors that inspires him, and that is a conceptual drive, which, although only loosely enforced, is perfectly suited for his theatrical and commanding flow. Nevermind the pure shit that is "What Them Girls Like" and "Wish You Would"; from the moment the merciless "Undisputed" decimates the generic vibes of career-lowlight, Release Therapy, with a flurry of horns and vocal samples, to the intensely symphonic narrative of "Call Up The Homies", Ludacris finally comes into his own on Theater of the Mind, embracing the drama and superstar profile that his charming personality has always suggested.

TV On The Radio - Dear Science (2008)

2008-12-08T20:49:00.000-08:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Delivering a follow-up to what many will probably look back on as one of the greatest albums of the decade can be a bitch. Just ask Kevin Shields or Brian Wilson. TV On The Radio understands that once you've dropped a masterpiece, there's a delicate balance you have to maintain afterward. You want to move on because what's the point of trying the same sound once you've already mastered it? But you don't want to make a full fledged jump into a single new genre only to find out it isn't your strong suit (Just ask David Bowie). So TV On The Radio did the smart thing and made Dear Science an Aladdin Sane to their Ziggy Stardust. It takes the basis of Return to Cookie Mountain (impossible to categorize, poetry laced Noise-Soul-Doo Wop-Indie Rock), and diversifies it in every direction at once. With the benefits of a new studio, TV On The Radio experiment and play with everything they could get their hands on, and guess what? It turns out they can do pretty much anything.

Prince-like grooves such as "Crying," and "Golden Age" have addictive, buzzing synths and jerky Electronica in their DNA while "Stork & Owl" and "Family Tree" pile the strings, creating lush Disney-esque ballads that soar with soul and passion. There's even the usual head-scratchers, such as "Dancing Choose" (Funky Electro-Rap Indie Rock?) or the rackety "Red Dress," shaking with punky sneering declarations yet nimble horns and funky guitars. And while the sheer variety of everything here can be exhausting, there's something infinitely exciting about the fact that 3 albums in, this band is still impossible to pin down, categorize or compare to any other band out there. Well there is the unavoidable comparison to Radiohead at their original peak (The Bends to Kid A), but that's just because TV On The Radio could similarly go in any direction from here, and there's very little doubt that it'll anything less than stellar.

The Blood Brothers - Crimes (2004)

2008-12-03T00:46:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Many laws usually have an element of prejudice that comes specifically from within the community. For a good example, homosexuality is a crime under strict Christian rules. The Blood Brothers clearly had this in mind when titling their fourth studio album, Crimes. On it, the band may as well be a bunch of boisterously-clad, flaming queers strutting their stuff loud and proud in Sunday school. Except, in their case, the crimes committed aren't in violation of any of God's codes, but of the unwritten laws of the close-minded Hardcore scene. Crimes deviates from the proper path of a devote Hardcore album by inserting keyboards and Dance Punk into their style, occasionally getting Glam, usually flirting with melody, and embracing the heresy teachings of Emocore and most of it's proponents. Still, Blood Brothers are as cracked out, spazzy and painstakingly jerky as ever before. The duo's vocal chords emit the usual visceral, inhuman shrieks and squeals and the backing band sounds like they've just gone through a horror movie marathon while tripped out on speed. "Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck" and the title track are single-ready, but most of the other songs don't go down easy at all. "Feed Me To The Forest" is all metallic grind and disturbing industrial, before thrashing straight into the berserk "Trash Flavored Trash". The Cabaret style organs of "Peacock Skeleton With Crooked Feathers" are twisted enough to directly serve the songs' frantic and surreal agitation. "My First Kiss At the Public Execution" forces you through a meat grinder before rewarding you with the hooks.

The rest of the album follows suit accordingly, pushing and pulling between the catchy and the cutthroat with very few weak moments. As good as Burn Piano Island Burn was, this is the album that The Blood Brothers were born to make and it shows. Conservative hardcore fans might condemn them for "selling out" but they'll be ignoring the consistency here that's been lacking in all their previous albums and, more importantly, the fulfillment of potential that's been brewing in this band's growth for a few years. Crimes is a necessary peak in The Blood Brothers discography and living evidence that some rules are just made to be broken.

Beck - Mellow Gold (1994)

2008-07-22T19:51:00.000-07:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Listening to Mellow Gold should remind you of this news story:

A Georgia man is accused of holding his wife and children captive in a trash-filled mobile home for three years, police said Wednesday. Raymond Daniel Thurmond, 36, was arrested after police got a call from a woman at a local shelter August 4. "She told me they had a mother and four kids and apparently they'd been kept at home and there was some abuse allegations and the dad wouldn't let them leave," Lavonia Police Lt. Missy Collins said. Thurmond, who has no criminal record, was charged with one count of rape, four counts of cruelty to children in the first degree and five counts of false imprisonment. Alma Medina, the property manager for the Beaver Creek mobile home park, had lived three doors away from the family for the past 2½ years. Medina said she put a note on Thurmond's door to pay the late rent by August 5. On August 6, after no rent was received, she sent her maintenance man to the 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom trailer. He opened the door and came straight back, she said. "I want you to see this with your own eyes," she recalled the maintenance worker saying to her. "You better wear some shoes and gloves or something." Medina went in the trailer and found piles of trash everywhere: 4, 5 or 6 feet high, she said. Medina shot a video of the trash inside the trailer, including Diet Mountain Dew bottles, board games, cigarette boxes, frozen pizza boxes and piles of human hair on the kitchen floor. "You cannot describe the smell," she said. "It was so strong it would knock you out." After Thurmond's arrest, the trailer was cleaned out, but yellow jackets swarmed around a Dumpster full of trash -- including a stroller, car seat and toys -- from the trailer. A horrible stench still lingers. Before the park's maintenance staff began cleaning, anthills were under a mattress in the master bedroom, maggots crept around the trailer and roaches roamed inside the fridge.
~ from update on cnn.com/crime, August 13'th, 2008.

Not enough people seem to point out how outright disturbing a lot of Beck's music is, but Mellow Gold is probably where it was most obvious. Unique and fascinating, yet undoubtedly repulsive.

Beck - Modern Guilt (2008)

2008-07-12T22:35:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Beck's albums have always, for the most part, been scattershot collages; stream-of-consciousness constructs of messy finger-painting in which the artist chooses to completely ignore any boundaries between genres. But with Danger Doom by his side, his wild attitude is quieted down, and while the result is a more homogenic demeanor, it also has led to his most focused album in years. On Modern Guilt, Beck's style is more akin to hard-edged abstract art. If albums like Odelay, Midnite Vultures, Guero and The Information were wildly flailing expressionist pieces, his latest is geometric, controlled, clean and cut at the edges, with an ultimately sharper bite. The condensed rocket-pop song, "Gamma Ray" is proof enough, but there's also the mechanical funk of "Youthless," the metallic boiler-room grind of "Soul of a Man", the glitchy "Replica" and "Walls", which is all woozy strings and post-modern swagger. Only tracks like "Profanity Prayers" and "Orphans" feature a bit of Beck's old, more loose style of genre hopping with acoustic guitar features, but they're handled with such sterility and so many electronic textures, that the songs feel unlike anything else in Beck's discography (except maybe the more spaced out tendencies of Mutations, which to many, will be a good thing). Admittedly, by adopting these new sounds, Beck has certainly began to sound more 'normal' and some of these tracks just don't have enough character (especially "Volcano"). But then again, a track as amazing as "Chemtrails" suggests that maybe this change was for the best. The ghostly piano-led ballad, blown up by rigid careening drums, is the early centerpiece of the album and the main argument for a more subtle, stripped down Beck. A year or two ago, these songs would be the same-old loosely held together extensions of his "anything goes" personality, something that has almost become more of a gimmick than a vehicle for good songwriting. With Danger Doom's help though, they're tightly constructed for maximum effect, and so even though Modern Guilt will probably be looked back on as a transitional album, it's high points have opened the door and paved the path of growth for Beck's future.

Wire - Object 47 (2008)

2008-07-03T00:41:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Wire's career is a microcasm. From the stripped down beginnings on Pink Flag to the avant-influenced oddball experiments on Chairs Missing and finally the full fledged leap into the unknown with 154, their first three albums provide a point-by-point rundown of how punk developed into post-punk before the latter even really had a name. Even after their hiatus, their return in the late 80's epitomized the sound that post-punk had turned into, embracing pop and dance music to create "New Wave." This is why you couldn't be surprised by their second reformation in the 00's. Post Punk had indeed entered another stage in it's timeline (the "revival" stage, popularized by bands like Franz Ferdinand and The Futureheads), and it's creators, who seemingly have been documenting it's evolution ever since, had to have their say. And so, 5 years after capturing the post-punk revival movement in it's aggressively youthful abandon with Send, they've returned with the much more melodious Object 47, defining how most of the post-punk revivalists have now embraced higher production values and tamed down their approach (Bloc Party, British Sea Power and even Interpol don't sound nearly as energetic and frantic as they once were). The difference is, much like how the soft-spoken A Bell is A Cup... distinguished itself between its peers, Object 47 does it right.

The album's electrifying contradictions are the stars of the show. When you pick apart Wire's music, there's nothing but menacing tenseness and industrialism. "All Fours" rolls in on a single-chord bash, that gets exceptionally assaulted by a vicious bridge of noise and feedback. "Circumspect" is drugged up and strung out to dry, decadence and distance embodied in the form of listless guitar figures. But looking at Wire's latest offering from a distance reveals nothing but a bunch of condensed pop tunes. The tightly-wound guitars may be focused on forming walls of dissonance and repetition, but unlike their last album, the band uses these ear-piercing textures in order to pen some infectious hooks. "Perspex Icon" couldn't be more memorable, contrasting a vocal that borders on whimpering with layers of brisk and fervent post punk guitars. And tracks like "Mekon Headman" or "One of Us" have choruses that will lodge themselves in your brain for weeks. On modern electro-buzzing tracks like "Hard Currency" it becomes especially easy to guess that the producer in question is Flood (Smashing Pumpkins, Nine Inch Nails), a craftsman who has been known in the past to dwell in that spot between abrasive squalor and catchiness. There are moments that Flood's mainstream flirtations are made far too apparent (the dark highway driving anthem, "Four Long Years" is a little too close to Depeche Mode for comfort and "Are You Ready" desperately needs to get away from its sterile production), but Wire is a band that has proven to hold up to change remarkably well, and with Object 47 they continue to triumphantly hold the torch up for post punk.

Coldplay - Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends (2008)

2008-06-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

...or "Brian Eno Snatches up Coldplay from the jaws of arena mediocrity." Yes folks, after 7 years of pounding their cheap streamlined versions of U2 and Radiohead into the ground, Coldplay finally decides to make some artistic growth! Well...sort of. They're still basically easier-to-listen-to versions of U2 and Radiohead, but in and of itself, I don't think there's anything wrong with that. What matters is whether or not they deliver the pop goods and on Viva La Vida, they introduce enough new elements to recapture the guilty pleasure that was Parachutes, the biggest of which is Brian Eno's signature stamp of sound manipulation. His influence is apparent in every aspect of the album's making, whether you're looking at the heightened density of atmosphere, the wider variety of songs (something X&Y had virtually none of), or the new and interesting song structures ("42" moves from genuinely haunting to uncomfortably vicious and feral with stunning ease, and the middle section of the album from "Lovers in Japan" to "Chinese Sleep Chant" moves like a series of melodic sketches). Most important though, is the way that, for once, The piano or guitar isn't used as the main songwriting origin. "Lost" is primarily a triumph of production over substance, but the hand claps, gospel organs and hoove-clopping rhythm form a melodic tapestry of sound that is irresistible enough to overcome the simplicity of the song itself. This is typical Brian Eno behavior at work, where songs are based on sounds alone, as with the tripped out guitars on "Strawberry Swing" or the walls of piano on "Lover in Japan". In conjunction with the deal-breaking fact that Chris Martin's lyrics actually manage to resist obvious, gooey cliches, Viva La Vida prevails as a worthy spiritual successor to The Joshua Tree.

Sigur Ros - Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (2008)

2008-06-21T19:08:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Often, Sigur Ros' music sounds like the stuff that gods might listen to. Their oozing symphonic excess and patiently paced crescendos enhance an unearhtly vocal performance that could only be that of an Angel's. But this reliance on divine weightlessness is not necessarily the element of Sigur Ros' music that makes them so good. ( ) seemed to pile on that formless atmosphere to no end, yet the album as a whole didn't quite reach the startling heights of their prior album, Agaetis Byrjun. Conversely, their new album, With A Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly (English Title), feels much more grounded, yet it's probably Sigur Ros' strongest work since their sophomore breakthrough. The down to earth qualities of the album probably comes from the fact that many of the tracks blatantly take cues from other modern bands. From the moment "Gobbledigook" bursts out of the door, parading through an Animal Collective drum circle, Sigur Ros seems to be finally showing a passion for music other than their own. Besides the 3-minute acoustic pop glory of the aforementioned single, "Inni Mer Syngur Vitleysingur" tacks a Sufjan Stevens-esque wall of glockenspiels and horns onto a driving, passionate rhythm. The combination of symphonic touches and rock-song structure makes it feel like a twin to Arcade Fire's "Keep That Car Running". Meanwhile, "Vi Spillum Endalaust" is a picture perfect ascending anthem that recalls Mercury Rev circa All Is Dream, and "Festival" wanders through familliar holy territory for it's first half, but very suddenly adopts a more earthly progression that is an exact replica of the outro for Titus Andronicus' "Fear And Loathing in Mawnah". This similarity is probably a complete coincidence, because the aesthetic here is completely different, enhanced by a more affecting build-up and bigger pay-off, but the fact that any connection can be made between the celestial Sigur Ros and a filthy bar-band that's pure Grassroots, is saying something about how far the band has come to do away with the pretentious qualities that's made them so hated by their dissentors. Admittedly, the songs gradually and completely return Sigur Ros to the sound that they're known for by the end of the album, with the breathtaking heights of tracks like "Ara Batur" and "Fljotavik", so this mainly feels like a transitional album. Nonetheless, the effect remains the same, and is only further established by the inclusion of their first english-spoken song, "All Alright". With A Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly borrows it's warmth from Takk... and it's creative layers of coos and voices from ( ), but the craft and accessibility of it's songs suggest something that their last two albums didn't (besides the post-rock friendly title) and that is tangible growth. Sigur Ros always tended to sound, on some level, like they were going through the motions just to maintain their heavenly reputation. But on With A Buzz... Sigur Ros' sincerity cannot be questioned. They've transcended their profile to become a magnificent, fun symphonic pop band.

Alla - Es Tiempo (2008)

2008-06-05T09:16:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

While Stereolab's past two or three albums have proven that Tropicalia-tinged, Electronica leaning, polyrhythmic groove-oriented indie pop will probably never die, the acclaimed French super-groop has been known to fail in the past. And in the event that this year's Chemical Chords turns out to be one of those unfortunate instances, a practically unknown Chicago three-piece with latin origin is already prepared to take the reigns. But even if Stereolab finds enough of a variation to keep their style sounding vital, there's still something distinctive about Alla that makes them equally enjoyable as, rather than overshadowed by, the highly regarded band that they'll undoubtedly be compared to. While Es Tiempo begins in the same polyphonic, hook-laden ballpark with "Una Dia Otra Noche," the album soon breaks apart and reforms in tangles of soothingly narcotic instrumental stretches. They become more post-rock in terms of song-structure and more prone to jam out, clear from tracks such as the spiraling "Tu y Yo," the druggy "Sazanami," and the relaxing "La Montana Sagrada." On tracks like "Tu Vida!" and "El Movimiento" they reveal a fondness for trip hop with touches of samples, scratching and high energy drumming, like their Chicago neighbors, Tortoise. The Sea and Cake makes a similar cameo apperance on ""No Duermas Mas," which adopts jazzy chords to induce an inescapable tranquilizing warmth. The end result is that, compared to the usual desensitization of emotion and exhaustion that comes out of listening to too much Stereolab, Alla's psychedellic washes of sound leave behind a startlingly fresh, subtle and substantive mark. There's variety here, and an attention to album craft that is usually lacking even in the "Krautpop" godfathers' best albums.

Opeth - Watershed (2008)

2008-06-03T09:59:00.000-07:00

2.0 ★/4.0 - 4.9

You can be rest assured that a band that's developed as devoted a cult following as Opeth has, hardly needs to worry about their latest being received as anything less than monumental. It's not even out yet and bloggers have already begun to lob it excessively ecstatic praise. But here's just hoping that Opeth doesn't listen to their listeners, because after the irrational fandom that so many have for Opeth settles, the bottom line is that they're really gonna need to focus in order to bounce back from the disappointment that is Watershed. Essentially, Watershed retreads the balance between brutality and beauty that Ghost Reveries achieved, except with half the inspiration. "Heir Apparent" and "The Lotus Eater" form the meat of the first half and they're depressingly typical for Opeth, filled with all the expected death metal chops and progressive structures but none of the heart. If a song is gonna waste 9 minutes of your life, it should at least be sincere and coherent, but these songs never come together as much more than demonstrations of dexterity. It's volume and misplaced intensity without any memorable dynamics or soul. The slow-paced "Burden" is much more basic, but probably even worse. Opeth have always hinted at their dreams of being featured on Monster Ballads, but they've usually had the sense to reign in their hair metal urges by balancing them with a sense of the arcane and attention to composition. "Burden" throws this rule completely out the window for an extremely predictable and cheesy power ballad. The solos are admittedly, accomplished, but hardly are enjoyable thanks to how easy it is to imagine Steve Vai jamming along. It's after the dissonant Spanish guitar noodling that separates the two halves, that the possibilities of Watershed become apparent. "Porcelain Heart" is the first song on the album that stops messing around and takes Opeth's legacy seriously, with consistent quiet-loud dynamics that are continually breathtaking for the full 8 minutes. The hair trigger riffage of "Hex Omega" and beautiful landscapes of "Hessian Peel" are even more exciting and both rank among Opeth's finest. But since the album is only 7 tracks, it picks up the pace a little too late to save itself from mediocrity.

Many critics will probably cop out and blame the drop in quality on the departure of guitarist, Peter Lindgren, but that's just laziness. Mikael Akerfeldt is the main songwriter and he shows he hasn't lost anything on the album's second half. Maybe the near-perfection of Ghost Reveries set a standard that was too intimidating. Or perhaps writing songs between the nearly 200 performances of the tour are what resulted in the rushed feel of the album's first half. Critical analysis aside, Watershed is quite simply a listening experience that frustrates as much as it thrills, made all the more infuriating by the fact that it's come from one of the best death metal bands of the decade.

Nine Inch Nails - The Slip (2008)

2008-05-13T11:33:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Despite the fact that Nine Inch Nails has ceased to be relevant in any musical sense, Trent Reznor's rampant support of the modern digitalization of music has kept his music thriving. From online alternate reality games, to releasing his albums for free on the web, one gets the sense that his attack on music industry commercialism has revitalized his efforts, and it shows both in the frequency with which he's released his last few albums (three in little more than a year), as well as their quality (Year Zero and Ghosts I-IV were probably his first great albums since The Downward Spiral). The Slip continues this trend, lacking the conceptual coherence that charged its predecessors, but making up for that with Trent's most concise collection of tracks since Pretty Hate Machine.

The album makes its two halves very distinct from one another. The first half contains all the usual industrial influenced, rage ridden dance-pop that Nine Inch Nails has made itself known for; in other words, 4 straight reprisals of "Bite The Hand That Feeds". Yes, the proto-industrial grind of "Head Down", high-octane energy of "1,000,000" and club-ready single, "Discipline", are all very entertaining. But one can't shake off the feeling that Trent watered down the striking Bomb-Squad-esque production of Year Zero leaving behind, artless angst-rock. A full album of this stuff would have been a disappointment. Thankfully, The Slip, makes a 180 degree turn on the remaining songs. The first track of the second half, "Lights in The Sky" blows away everything that came before it. Stripped down to its emotive core, Reznor's songwriting talent is finally given the treatment it deserves. No more pedestrian, overtly-distorted anger overflowing his composition; just Trent and a spacious piano, with haunting results. After a soothing ambient piece, two hypnotizing near-instrumentals with buzzing layers of synth-pads, de-tuned guitars and unsettling layers of noise function as even more evidence that Reznor should consider following through with a sequel to Ghosts I-V. Admittedly, the off-the-cuff nature of the album release makes it feel like it's not quite the proper sequel that's been promised by Year Zero, and if there's any other fault to be had, it's the same complaint that could be given against Trent's mid-career material - an unwillingness to move forward. But The Slip is still yet another brick in the ever-building wall of anticipation for Reznor. Only time will tell if he decides to follow through with these inspired tendencies or just linger in a point of transition, still fatally attached to his younger years of misplaced angst. What's definite, however, is that the past two years have marked a much stronger revival than the With Teeth years did.

Death Cab For Cutie - Narrow Stairs (2008)

2008-05-12T23:28:00.000-07:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Secretly, nobody likes change. It's inherent in Humans to gravitate towards our comfort zones. But who knows where the world would be if people didn't evolve, grow, move on and move out. Death Cab For Cutie understands this well enough. Scenesters still decry this once-loved Indie guitar-pop band for turning their backs against the underground and entering the major-label studio. But ultimately, two of Death Cab's most financially and critically successful works (Transatlantacism and Plans) came from this career trajectory. So for a band whose style (and gross income) has benefited so much from change, you'd think they'd be happy to welcome it back with open arms. But Narrow Stairs shows that, in reality, Ben Gibbard and co. are as apprehensive towards transformations as the next person.

The common consensus is that this is Death Cab's "experimental" album. But if you've grown attached to their current stream of OC-friendly guitar pop, you don't have to worry. Narrow Stairs' perceived experimentalism is more obvious in idea than in practice. "I Will Possess Your Heart" is probably the main source of the talk. It opens with 4 instrumental minutes of Can-esque jamming and spacious atmosphere led by a soulful bass riff. Also, "No Sunlight" and "Long Division" carry dense, intricate guitar-play and driving Neu!-style rhythms that distinguish them from typical Death Cab fare, yet still fit perfectly with their sing-along qualities. Even though "Pity and Fear" falls flat in it's attempt at traditional tabla-driven Indian music, Narrow Stairs' boldest tracks point to what could've been a spectacular new chapter in Death Cab's career. But the biggest problem of the album is that the band seems so resistant to make the full-fledged leap into the unknown, even though they clearly have the capabilities. Too many tracks hide behind the same AM pop territory they hinted at with their last two albums. In particular, the mid-section spanning from "Talking Bird" to "Grapevine Fires" settles into a lazy lull of humdrum hooks. Even after getting back on track with the slinking beauty of "Your New Twin Sized Bed", "The Ice Is Getting Thinner" prevails as a completely underwhelming closer, filled with lifeless cliche that leaves the listeners asking themselves, "is that it?".

Any way you look at it, Narrow Stairs is a polarizing album. Death Cab's experiments are exciting enough to get previous detractors on board, but those people will undoubtedly be let down by the straightforward interior. Inversely, those who jumped on board with Transatlantacism and Plans probably won't welcome the new influences very nicely. And ex-fans of their first few albums, will probably fall in love with "Cath..." (which strongly recalls Something About Airplanes) but will be unimpressed with both their typical tracks and their new jams. If Death Cab had just applied to a single mode, they might've retained the focus that makes all of those aforementioned albums so great. Instead, they've made a strange transitional work that offers small snapshots of the band's strengths and wide-scale landscape photos of their fears.

Islands - Arm's Way (2008)

2008-05-12T16:08:00.000-07:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

So many other journalists have written about what causes the musical anomaly known as a "Sophomore Slump", that restating it would just be redundant. That said, if you don't want to hear about yet another band falling hard on the follow-up to their well-received debut, just walk away from this review right now, because Arm's Way is a frustratingly classic case.

Here's the deal: each track on Arm's Way is bursting with ideas, but very few of them actually materialize into worthwhile songs. First track, "The Arm" personifies the album best, opening with a beautifully delicate build up of ghostly voices and crashing cymbals, but quickly ditching it for a generic, dark indie-pop tune. Time and time again throughout Arm's Way, the band induces face palms of the highest order, with their decision to make the strengths that they exhibited so well on Return to the Sea (subtlety, playfulness and catchiness) an afterthought, in favor of a sound that's darker, more progressive, and ultimately more forgettable. This choice probably comes from a new-found love for The Who, and I'm not just saying that because of the reprise of "You Are Forgiven" that arrives at the end of "In The Rushes". Each song flows like a Rock opera with a capitol R, filled with misguided attempts at drama, Prog and capturing the over the top whine of Queen at their most sinister and "serious" sounding (serious is in quotations because even when Queen were serious, they weren't, really). But all the tempo changes and excess Muse-inspired melodrama (his blood is dirty, and he likes it that way, folks!) can't mask the fact that the parts of these multi-sectioned songs that focus on the whimsicality from their debut are the only reasons Arm's Way is worth listening to at all. Check out the tip-toeing bridges of "The Arm", the chorus of "Pieces of You", the funky mid-section of "Life in Jail" and observe how much more lively, original and true to the band they feel in comparison to the majority of the forced, bloated songs they're lazily tacked onto. Jamie Thompson boasted in interviews how much more dark and complex the new album would be. But he should have known better than to overlook the fact that that's precisely one of the main issues that leads to a sophomore slump: a band consciously ditches their strengths in an attempt to avoid an album that's tagged as "too similar to their debut". One might argue that changes are necessary in a band's evolution, but it's also important to note that a change should be natural. If it's too self-conscious...well...we get a baffling mess like Arm's Way.

Titus Andronicus - The Airing of Grievances (2008)

2008-05-08T16:25:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Can passion be substituted for virtually every other attribute that characterizes good music? Some would point to Conor Oberst as proof that it can, but just as many probably remain unconvinced by his albums; especially his more recent ones, which have tended to overlook the fact that if you're gonna make emotion be the core-attraction of your music, you shouldn't drown it out with string sections and excess compositional prowess. If someone's gonna stake out the claim that emotion trumps content, Titus Andronicus is perhaps a better example, whose dedication to fervor and fire is only further strengthened by their muscular, musical simplicity.

It's too appropriate that a review of The Airing of Grievances open with a mention of Conor, because the lead vocalist of Titus Andronicus has a raspy and emotive voice that recalls the indie boy-wonder at his most searing, longing and corrosively punk-damaged. Unlike Bright Eyes, however, which too often contrasted Conor's quavering voice with spotless pop, the enraged and implosive screams and gang-shouts on The Airing of Grievances are perfectly appropriate for the music. The bulk of the album is made up of Flogging Molly-esque bar anthems that recall Punk in terms of volume and energy, but bring to mind The Hold Steady's dedication to painting pervasive pictures of parties and recklessness. In other words, these songs are freaking loud. The band begins with their amps at 11 and get progressively louder, nearly falling apart under the weight of every member plowing a single progression into the ground. They milk anthemic hooks for all they're worth, riding them through enough repetition and hot-blooded delivery of notebook poetry to thrust you into nostalgia, pining for long lost urges of youthful abandon. And this album is nothing, if not a soundtrack for growing up, particularly in the Western World. You can hear the Fourth of July fireworks sparking off in the opening rush of "Albert Camus". The two sections of "No Future" reek from traces of American rooted pride and honor in their traditional structures and melodies. Matched with the band's bleeding angst, fury and disquieting readings of Albert Camus, it feels like a mean-spirited satire on whatever this country is supposed to stand for - an extension of the idealism and anarchistic rage that develops when you're young and just learning the world's unfairness. Perhaps I'm reading too deeply into what many will justifiably ingest as bar-rock, but the band's wonderfully cryptic and poetic nature invites these kinds of interpretations. And as easy as it is to be resistant to music like this that wears it's heart and mind on it's sleeves, nothing really succeeds without some sort of emotional backing. I hope that The Airing of Grievances manages to convince the more hard-hearted people out there to accept sincerity at face value. It's okay to have feelings. It's okay to be philosophical. And it's perfectly possible to write a bare-bones, vulgar, kick-ass drinking album in the process.

Cut Copy - In Ghost Colours (2008)

2008-05-08T10:30:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Through the first half of the 2000's, DFA records struck upon something gold, even if they didn't realize it yet. The formula was simple: Live Rock instrumentation + Dance music = a good time. The result was what publications have gone on to call "Dance Punk", recalling the early 80's, but bringing in the modern dance renovations of Club music. Bands like !!!, The Faint and Hot Chip spread these forefathers' philosophy all across the country, revealing scenesters' silliness at refusing to get their asses on the dance floor and start moving. It's no surprise why someone would look back on this as the "golden era" for music in the 00s, but those people also face the undeniable fact that the genre didn't have nearly enough top-tier albums before dying down.

This is what makes Cut Copy's sophomore album such a pleasant surprise. It so impeccably fuses dance music and indie pop that one would have trouble recalling a time when the two genres were at all separate. They're akin to a more poppy version of LCD Soundsystem, abusing all the arm-crossing, stand-still hipsters at a show with irresistible, hip shaking grooves, leaving them no choice but to move to the beat. But let's get rid of the modern cultural implications here; Cut Copy are just a ridiculously catchy Techno band. They aren't doing anything that Depeche Mode (or even more recently, The Rapture) didn't do before, and you'll be mistaken to think that there's any sort of cultural milestone hidden within In Ghost Colours' spinning keyboards and sharp rhythmic guitars. All they have are insanely catchy melodies and toe-tapping beats to match. But they accomplish it with so much charisma and fearlessness that you can't help but get caught up in their ever-swirling daze. "Feel The Love" is the mission statement, mixing Futureheads-style hooks with whimsical Disco breakdowns and shameless usage of a vox-box that seem to invite the listener to let go and embrace the cheese. If you do so, you'll be rewarded with the bass-led dance punk of "Feel The Music" and "Nobody Lost, Nobody Found" or "So Haunted", which glamorously fuses avant-noise with a rock-star arena chorus. "Hearts On Fire" meanwhile is a straight-forward club track with "uh" voice samples and layers of spacey synths. Between each of these 80's dance-offs are cloudy sound collages of vocal clips and samples that recall Animal Collective (see "Eternity One Night Only") and do away with any overbearing qualities that could've so easily plagued a retro-release like this. As a matter of fact, similar to M83's Saturdays = Youth, In Ghost Colours perfectly fits into 2008 despite it's dated influences. I think what we're seeing is a vigorous response to everyone who said in the early 2000's that all the bands bringing retro influences back to the forefront of musical consciousness was just a phase. The bottom line is that truly timeless music doesn't just stick to it's decade. It continues to inspire and be reinterpreted in an infinite number of ways, sometimes in a form that's just as fresh as the original was. In Ghost Colours is such a case.

Boris - Smile (2008)

2008-05-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

From what I've heard, the American version of Smile has a more clear, focused and direct feel to it. But when it comes to the Japanese version, it's contrasting styles, inconsistency, and unwillingness to edit makes it feel like a challenging collection of oddball leftovers from Pink. What's strange is how Boris makes what should be a scattered, short-sighted and hard-to-follow collage of unrelated tracks somewhat enjoyable. It opens with a striking duo of immediacy that hardly characterizes the bulk of it's inaccessible content. "Message" is Boris doing TV On The Radio, Hendrix style: fuzzy drum-machine driven Electronica with violently disorienting guitar-noise solos and playful doo-wop chants. The following "Buzz-In" makes an exhilarating and primal leap back into Pink territory: careening drums, garage riffage and background tape loops tossing in a psychedelic edge. From then on though, Smile becomes a tough cookie to crack. It doesn't fail completely, but on your first few listens, it does fall apart. I still can't understand how the underwhelming "Flower Sun Rain" has become a fan-favorite, constantly regarded as "wrongly excluded" from Pink. It's pace is mind numbingly slow, Takeshi's poor vocal attempts at balladry comes off as bad karaoke and the intended melancholia that this is supposed to be supporting doesn't even have a memorable progression. "Shoot!", meanwhile, is just too irritatingly fuzzy to retain any listening value. But Boris will still be your favorite Japanese Indie/Ambient/Drone/Psychadelic/Noise/Metal band by default. As difficult as it may be to get through their unpredictable albums, no one can deny them their distinctiveness, especially in the context of their homeland, where their closest living relative is probably Boredoms (and even they would only qualify as a half-cousin, twice removed). That realization alone makes all their albums worthwhile in some way. As confounding as Smile may be at first, it's got a personality that keeps you fascinated, making it a grower. Eventually, the initial incomprehensibility of "Dead Destination" begins to reveal an unstoppable decimation of apocalyptic proportions and the closing "You Put Up Your Umbrella" can never forgiven for it's lame first half, but soars and swoons through enough mind-expanding jamming and breathless ambiance in it's second half to impress.

The more you look at it, the more you realize Smile shouldn't be as good as it is. Pink was great because of it's cohesion and accessibility. It sounded like a work of labor and gave their experimentalism an aim and a recognizable identity. Here, the band sounds like they're once again shooting the shit, catering to no one and yet all the while, getting pretty close to Pink's greatness. Sure, it isn't very together, but taken as a collection of individual moments, it'll captivate.

The Notwist - The Devil, You And Me (2008)

2008-05-01T01:07:00.000-07:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

The Notwist's last album, Neon Golden, was an album disillusioned with relationships, crafted mainly for long lonely nights (see song titles like "One Step Inside Doesn't Mean You Understand"). It was only on tracks like "One With The Freaks" and "Consequence", that the band opened their arms, revealing their fondness for simple, tender and touching rumination pieces. The Devil, You + Me, on the other hand, revels in that sound, from the moment "Good Lies" bursts out the door with pensively driving waves of sound that paint a picture of the band crouched over their instruments, pouring all their memories of loved ones, instinctual intimacy and traces of emotion into each heavenly movement. But for all it's romantic gestures and love-centric gestures, The Devil, You + Me is still best personified by it's album cover: A lone man standing at the edge of a forest, ankle deep in a body of water teeming with birds and wildlife. The narrator of Neon Golden has made it out of the dank labyrinth of tracks like "Trashing Days" and "Neon Golden", only to emerge in an endless sea. Beauty thrives much more in this place, but there's no escaping the fact that he's still a long ways from home. It's that tension between inescapable sadness and beauty that may make The Devil, You + Me worth checking out, despite it's lack of focus. By lack of focus, I'm referring to way in which the sequencing of the album let's down it's powerful individual moments. Unlike Neon Golden, which had a track order that lent each track a distinct identity and immediacy, even countless repeat listens will render The Devil, You + Me as not much more than a collection of tracks. But with delicate and transcendent songs like "Gloomy Planets" and the title track, one gets the sense that The Notwist puts so much into each one of these individual tracks, filling them to the top with hooks, life-affirming spirituality and dense textures, that their disregard for cohesion is a forgivable mistake.

Cat Power - Jukebox (2008)

2008-04-30T00:09:00.000-07:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Covers of songs used to be way more popular. What happened? For many, there's just way too much music now. People's hands are too busy listening to stuff they haven't heard to work up the enthusiasm to devote any significant amount of time to reinterpretations of old music. Still, the occasional cover here and then can be genuinely refreshing provided the artist puts in enough of their own flair to warrant the new version. There are some selections on Jukebox where Chan Marshall definitely shows that talent. It's hard to imagine the need for a re-do of Liza Manelli's "New York" or "Hank Williams' "Ramblin Woman," but Marshall's sexy crooning and her band's lo-key somber jamming strengthen the core progressions in unique ways. Lee Clayton's "Steel Stallion" feels like a completely new song thanks to the benefit of revitalized sound quality. And there simply couldn't be a more appropriate track for her to cover than Joni Mitchell's "Blue". The smooth-jazz organs and chords enhance the original with a ghostly quality and immediacy that that ranks it among Talk Talk's best. But Jukebox is just filled with too much filler. Marshall doesn't seem to have much soul covering James Brown and George Jackson and the "why fix it if it's not broken" philosophy applies to a disappointingly grounded version of her own "Metal Heart". The fact that the strongest track is the only new original Cat Power tune is saying something. The sweetly moving "Song To Bobby" is a much more satisfying tribute to Dylan than the plodding soft-rock revival of "I Believe In You", a selection from one of the worst albums of his career, and is enough to get anyone hankering for a genuine Cat Power follow-up to The Greatest. For an example of a cover album done right, listen to The Covers Record. Songs from that album have entered the regular go-to Cat Power canon and a handful have even been chosen for movie soundtracks. That's the mark of a successful cover project. But at this stage in her career, Jukebox is evidence that an EP would probably have been a better choice.

Vetiver - Thing of The Past (2008)

2008-04-29T00:10:00.000-07:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

The reason why any genre revivalist succeeds as more than an outdated tribute to an overdone style is because of the unique elements and variations they bring to the table. Let's look at the burgeoning folk scene, for instance. Although more recently dying down, the past five years or so has been honored with spectacular folk-revival albums by artists such as Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom. The former introduced a wildly varied take on organic traditionalist styles, given more modern relevance by his crooning, unruly snarls and hippie ideals. And the latter fuses harp-playing, love-it-or-hate-it childlike-yelps, fantastical poetry and conceptual adventurousness, putting her at the forefront of ground-breaking music today. "Freak Folk" may have become a damning tag, but any artists that can fuse such a rootsy genre with experimental, forward-thinking elements deserve a medal or two. With so much competition, Vetiver's self titled debut album earned itself three. A weightless journey through a natural yet fantastic terrain, heightened by dramatic strings and beautifully psychedelic textures, Vetiver is an overlooked album that still sounds fresh four years later. Sadly, the band seemed to levitate a little closer to earth for their sophomore effort. Their influences were a little more apparent and the songs themselves hinted at more traditional soft rock and country territory. As a result, To Find Me Gone is a mildly enjoyable yet unessential album that hasn't aged as well.

So now Thing of The Past is here to make the band's influences 100% percent clear, with covers spanning from Garland Jeffreys to Ian Matthews, and Vetiver has become a significantly less interesting band because of it. Admittedly, many of these songs are super obscure, so the criticism of "what's the point?" isn't warranted. And tracks like Norman Greenbaum's "Hook And Ladder", Biff Rose's "To Baby" and Loudon Wainwright's "Swimming Song" contain timelessly catchy and folksy hooks that deserve to re-presented to the general population. But Vetiver's true strengths shine gloriously on the unconventional tracks. "Roll On Babe" revitalizes Ronnie Lane with a misty weightlessness while "Hurry On Sundown" illuminates the band's love of jamming and classic rock through one of Hawkwind's better known progressive southern ho-downs. They disappointingly remind us that the bulk of the album ditches these exciting elements for pleasant yet forgettable staples, void of dynamics, soul or original flair that would warrant a track to be covered - lifeless renditions of Elyse Weinberg's "Houses", Townes Van Zandt's "Standin" and Michael Hurley's "Blue Driver" for example. This hit and miss affair is saved at the end by Bobby Charles' "I Must Be In A Good Place Now"; a beautifully hushed and unpretentious gospel tune, which makes the album a step above mediocre and even gratifying enough for a listen or two. But much like Cat Power's Jukebox, Thing of The Past takes it's name too literally, coming off as a dispensable relic from the past, and consequently extinguishing a little bit of the inventive and mystical nature that keeps a voice fresh and distinctive even in orthodox territory.

Dodos - Visiter (2008)

2008-04-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Animal Collective are quickly becoming one of the most influential and important bands of our decade. The decade isn't even over and already bands like The Ruby Suns, El Guincho and now The Dodos are shamelessly parading their love of the tribally rhythmic, psychedelic/freak-folk-pop innovators. Still, it's nice that we haven't reached that stage in the style where the bands and albums begin to get watered down, predictable, and more focused on paying their respects than actually adding something new. So far, each addition to the style that Animal Collective have fathered has introduced a welcome variation on it. In The Dodos' case, they've done away with the alienation that makes Panda Bear and Avey Tare such cult-favorites and capitalized on a stronger embrace of immediacy, whether stripping tracks down to pleasing jingles and throwing in heart-warming vocals that recall Ben Gibbard or embracing psychotic hollers and vicious slide guitars reminiscent of Jimmy Page. The songs on their debut build and reform and have the track lengths to prove it (6-7 minutes usually), but they either do so in a flurry of accessible progressions and harmonies or in an exciting and invigorating punk fury. Arguably, the latter mode gives birth to the album's strongest moments, with shifting epics like "Paint The Rust", "Jodi" and especially the second half of "Joe's Waltz", which is absolutely perfect: a demented folk-rodeo hoedown enhanced with manic cries, exhilerating breakdowns and discordance bursting at the seams. But the former mode is just as necessary in establishing the album's overall flow, with tender and relaxing fragments such as "Eyelids" and "Undeclared", the marvelous wistfulness of "Red and Purple" and "Winter" and the soothing waterfall lullaby, "Ashley" all contributing to the push-pull element that makes the overall experience of listening to Visiter so satisfying.

Although stretching a little too long at nearly an hour, there are very few albums as unfalteringly enjoyable as Visiter. It's a warm, lovable and endlessly repeatable collection of carefree tracks that achieves the timeless sound of two friends having fun, an aesthetic that hasn't been done this substantially since Sung Tongs.

M83 - Saturdays = Youth (2008)

2008-03-28T16:11:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

I didn't live through the 1980's, and until now, I didn't regret it. Despite uncovering many strong points and varying styles (The Cure, Tom Waits and various underground punk for example), I still consider the majority of the 80's one of the weakest decades of music for the past 60 years. But from the moment I heard the opening kaleidoscopic chords and swirling radiance of M83's new lead single, "Graveyard Girl", I felt an uncontrollable nostalgia for that time. The bulk of Saturdays = Youth is no different. It inspires a giddy and uncontrollable glee for the oft-misunderstood era, celebrating The Breakfast Club, big hair styles and unashamed abuse of synths. But the reason why this succeeds as much more than a dated period piece is because M83 is still an Electronica project at heart. All sorts of production quirks and brief spoken word sections make Saturdays = Youth much more than a simple tribute to an era. It's a reinterpertation, integrated with the contemplative and paranoid-driven insight of the 2000's; kind of like an album version of Donnie Darko, except celebrating the things we might've missed from the decade, rather than causticly satirizing it. Piano-led tracks like "Too Late" and "You, Appearing" do away with the cheesiness that tended to ruin so many songs from the 80's and heightens the genuine sentimentality with walls of rich, dramatic sound. "Highway of Endless Dreams" builds and expands like a modern techno song and instills the generation with a grandeurous driving force. The extended bridges and soaring hooks on tracks like "Kim & Jessie" and "We Own The Sky" overflow with the romantic innocence and bright-eyed curiosity that was so common among youth of the 80's. And closer, "Midnight Souls Still Remain" is nearly 12 minutes of thoughtful and uplifting Ambiance, seeming to bookend the collection with one last triumphant defense for the daydreaming demeanor lost to the hard-hitting 90's. Admittedly, M83 has had a hard time throwing off the shackles of living in My Bloody Valentine's shadow and because of the reverb and shrieking distortion effects in Saturdays = Youth, the similarities probably won't stop being noted. But M83's third album is so refreshing that it lessens the implications of inferiority in that comparison. By making the connections between the 80's and Loveless more apparent, Saturdays = Youth defends its credibility, while mastering a joyous middle-point sound of its own.

Xiu Xiu - Women As Lovers (2008)

2008-03-15T01:44:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

There's something to be said for an artist like Jamie Stewart, who, with his twisted Ian Curtis-meets-Conor Oberst constitution, has so boldly extracted the essence of manic depression for 5 albums of cacophony and disturbing avant-pop, without ever bothering to make it more accessible for his listeners. But the reason Women As Lovers succeeds more than any other Xiu Xiu album, is because of it's willingness to open up. Whereas their last two albums focused on distancing it's emotions from the listener through avant touches, Women As Lovers delivers upon the approachable form that the seamlessly consolidated Fabulous Muscles promised. Don't get me wrong, the content itself is still roughly disturbing - just look at the album artwork, which appears to be a naked child-form roughly bound by rope and tourniquet wire. And then there's the heart breaking center of the album, "Black Keyboard" and "Master of the Bump" - two of Stewart's signature acoustic treks into his dark and troubled psyche, enhanced by weary and unflinching lines like "why would mother say such things, why add tongue to her kiss goodnight" and "a child is nothing without hate". But for music that's so blatantly driven by intensity and trauma, the band sounds they're having a ton of fun. The "doo doo doo" yelps in the background of lead single, "I Do What I Want When I Want" make what's already a shambling recording feel even more like a children's recess project. "No Friend Oh!", the album's most immediately catchy song, sounds positively triumphant with the chorus' blaring horn section. And even though you'd expect the end result of Jamie Stewart handling any song with intentions as melodramatic as Queen's "Under Pressure" to be a total depress-fest, what's amazing is how loosely the band plays with it, delightfully reassembling it with a revitalized madhouse arrangement that puts to shame the more predictable versions that have popped up lately (My Chemical Romance and The Used, I'm looking at you). Jamie Stewart's barely controllable melodramatic shouts, Caralee McElroy's gentle whispers and Michael Gira's powerful sing-speaking all take turns, powered by free-jazz dissonance, and a wall of pretty guitars.

What Women As Lovers ultimately does for Xiu Xiu is shed the off-the-walls variety of all their other albums in exchange for a single, tangible, down-to-earth face. Throughout the album there's a consistent sound: a steadily tense, post-punk influenced, rhythmic section, rollicking bass and startlingly violent percussion clashing savagely with Stewart's unstable whimpers, random electro-noise and acoustic meanderings. This new found focus, looseness and attention to jamming (no matter how off-key it may be) all add up to make Xiu Xiu finally sound like a coherent and widely listenable band, rather than a left-of-field recording project. For that, it's undoubtedly one of their best albums to date.

The Ruby Suns - Sea Lion (2008)

2008-03-14T14:43:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

While the shifting swirl of voices in the first half of "Morning Sun" or the hissing, half-asleep swayer, "Blue Penguin" suggests more lo-fi origins, this exterior conceals the hi-fi mentality abound in Sea Lion. "There Are Birds", for example, sets itself up to be a simple buzzing pop tune, but then makes a right turn into a multi-layered funhouse carnival section. The percussion that opens "Tane Mahuta" sounds like it's all silverware and tin cans, but then the song reveals a musical sophistication that would make Brian Wilson blush, it's main melody becoming supplemented by all manners of Pacific Islander, African, and Hawaiin originated instruments. And "Kenya Dig It?" is the kind of Pet Sounds-worthy flawless creation that you'd expect to only be attempted in a high-end studio; it's structure brilliantly ebbs from a downpour of phaser mist draping a heavenly harmony into an elaborate shifting of styles and back to the beginning, before side-stepping into a gorgeous shoegazer outro. As a matter of fact, the weakest parts of the album are sections that become too fractured or bogged down in lo-fi textures (particularly on tracks like the Microphones-esque "It's Mwangi In Front Of Me" or the lifeless "Ole Rinka"). Try as they might to jump on the rugged, garage pop bandwagon, The Ruby Suns work best when they sound exactly how everyone would expect a New Zealand band to sound like: as if they've risen out of an underwater city with Sebastian and the entire Atlantica orchestra behind them.

Atlas Sound @ Bottom of The Hill, San Francisco, CA, 03/08/08

2008-03-09T13:13:00.000-07:00

For an artist whose last album was an intimate bedroom recording project, Bradford Cox showed an excessive amount of energy on stage. It was of course, immediately apparent, from his swaying and practically incoherent rambling, that this was due to the alcohol he had consumed prior and continued to consume (and spill) throughout the show. According to the bassist, it was only one drink. If that's true, it's confounding that such a tall person could be such a lightweight because he was so drunk that the show must've gone on almost 2 hours longer than it should have, to fit in all of his in-between song ranting, crowd interaction, and aimless jamming. And even after the show was over, he stayed on stage, sat on a monitor and just continued to talk to the crowd about music, modern art and people he had met that night. Failed attempts at covers followed (although one effort was successful: Velvet Underground's "I'll Be Your Mirror") and after ten minutes of requests, Bradford finally dragged himself off stage.

As infinitely entertaining as it was to witness Bradford Cox spiral into unpredictable silliness (especially to his core fans who, eventually began to encourage him with conversation), it's a shame that his antics had to kill the atmosphere of the excellent songs, because when he did stick to the set, what went down was a force to be reckoned with. Composed of members from openers, Valet, and the impressive ambient sound manipulator, White Rainbow, Bradford's backing group tackled all of the more structured and full-band oriented songs from Let The Blind Lead... with impressive vitality and concentration. The sound mixing was perfect, and was able to fit all the electronic noodling and noisy guitar texturing on stage into a listenable form (Bottom Of The Hill has always, in my opinion, contained one of the best and clearest sound systems in the entire city). But the overall feeling of the show can best be characterized by it's last 5 minutes. The set ended in a total stage breakdown, each of the five musicians on-stage escaping their otherwise consistent pensive raptness to completely consume the audience with an off-the-rails performance of fierce noise making and impassioned form. It was truly captivating...up until the moment Bradford Cox clumsily dropped a mic on his friend/bassist's face, giving her a fat lip. Here's hoping their other shows on the tour stay a little more focused.

Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes (2008)

2008-03-08T13:27:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

A band that my parents and I can both enjoy comes around about once every other blue moon. My record shelf and their collection of washed up southern traditionalists have virtually not a single overlap, and whenever they threaten to cover the same ground, I tend to find myself disowning the artist in question. This explains my resistance to giving anything from the "alternative-country" movement a chance. I know there are elements of those artists that could ease me into the style, and I'm arguably already on it's outskirts, with Wilco and Calexico. But I'd rather not have to go through the devastation of having to bury my passion for a piece of music because it conflicts with my subconscious conditioning to be disgusted by anything that my parents can view as wholesome all-American entertainment, to go with their Grammy Awards and American Idol. Still, I've given into Fleet Foxes and feel very much torn. Something tells me that in the end, I'm gonna have to work extra hard to keep this a secret from my parents, because I simply can't stop listening to it and don't think I'd be able to if I tried. The splendidly gorgeous "Meadowlark", at the very least, is infinitely replay-able; the kind of song that, after hearing once, I couldn't stand not hearing at least once a day every day for the rest of my life. No matter how much I stare apathetically at their shudder inducing favorite artists (Crosby, Stills & Nash for example) and how much they embrace genres that I've never been too fond of, from gospel to southern rock, I can't ignore that Fleet Foxes have instilled these influences with enough originality and inventiveness to have delivered yet another nomination for this year's best debut album.

Like recent psych-folk misfits, Grizzly Bear, the key to Fleet Foxes' success is the way their organically flowing arrangements so masterfully maintain a balance between American backwoods influence and blue-eyed Psychadellia. Right from the start, album opener, "Red Squirrel" couldn't be more blatant about it's American grass roots intentions, yet the connected "Sun Rises" eventually reforms it's banjo-toting harmonies into a flurry of mind bending riffs. Check out the way the otherwise typical adult-alternative anthem, "Quiet Woods" bursts into an organ-led circus square dance for it's interludes. Or marvel at how effortlessly "He Doesn't Know Why" veers between a "my dear clementine"-esque ditty and a dramatic beach boys style build up. The best way to explain how good Fleet Foxes is, however, is to simply look at the way it's convinced me to open up. I saw O Brother Where Art Thou earlier today and for once, the Soggy Bottom Boys song that the film revolves around got my toe tapping. The other day I stole a listen to a Fleetwood Mac album from my mom's collection. And who knows, I may even let her listen to Fleet Foxes. After all, good music should make you want to share it, despite generational or cultural differences.

Built To Spill & Meat Puppets @ The Fillmore, San Francisco, CA, 02/25/08

2008-02-27T17:06:00.000-08:00

At first glance, the godfathers of 80's underground cow-punk and the godfathers of 90's indie guitar rock don't have much in common, besides their title. The relatively unknown opener from Seattle, Helvetia, worked to bridge the gap between the two bands with a sound that fused the best of both styles: Anthemic songwriting, J. Mascis-esque vocals, Sonic Youth style noise solos, and a penchant for jamming out. But even their fairly impressive attempt (which encouraged me to check out their myspace, something that I encourage any Dinosaur Jr fan to do as well) couldn't make the two bands' performances feel any closer to one another.

Meat Puppets took the stage and exhibited an energy and excitement that you wouldn't expect from a bunch of gray haired middle aged men going on their 28'th year as a band together. The Bassist in particular, Cris Kirkwood, overflowed with enough glee and playfulness to fill a giddy schoolgirl at her first high school dance. However, their age revealed itself in the extremely dull moments that they decided to play any of their recent work. Thankfully, the extended jam sessions that tied each song together made up for such mistakes, and fan-favorites like "Up On The Sun" and "Plateau" were instilled with enough improvisation and twists to feel completely new.

Sadly, Built To Spill was in direct contrast with Meat Puppets' enthusiasm (which surprised me, since the first time I witnessed them, on the You In Reverse tour, they were spectacular). Their stage presence was just what you would expect from one of the spokes-bands of the slacker generation. Whether staring solemnly at their shoes or pensively fixated on their guitars, they barely changed their facial expressions and stage positions for the entire show. Other bands may have been able to put up a show without much movement, but Built To Spill's best songs vary between ecstatic joy and soaring chaos, so by all rights, their physical manifestation should be appropriate. Instead, I got the impression that they were going through the motions, completely unmoved by their own stellar compositions. But the even bigger issue was the poor sound-mixing, which effectively eliminated the best parts of each song (dense layers of supplementary riffs, slide guitars, and Doug's wonderfully whiny voice) in favor of the rhythm guitar's overloud chunky monster riffage. Still, unmoved by their most recent work, it was nice to see that they hadn't abandoned their classic albums, crafting a set that took all the best tracks from their trio of greatness (There's Nothing Wrong With Love, Perfect From Now On and Keep It Like A Secret).

Atlas Sound - Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel (2008)

2008-02-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Anyone who finds themselves indifferent to this album and only liking the obligatory single "River Cards" (Or, more justifiably, the excellent "Bite Marks", which sounds like Aphex Twins doing Weezer's "Only In Dreams"), may want to reconsider their approach. Bradford Cox's solo experiment should not be taken in anywhere near the same vein as his other band, Deerhunter. Ultimately, that band is about pop-rock. Atlas Sound may be under the guise of a dreamier version of the same thing, but these songs are above and beyond such restricting structures. Instead, Cox crafts a full-blooded ambient album, layering his walls of sound to create a 50 minute transportation to another world that is weightless, transcendent, and above all, gorgeous.

Like most ambient music, enjoyment develops out of repeated listens. Only then do otherwise bland songs reveal the subtle elements that make them interesting and engaging. "On Guard" would be a bore if not for the way hand claps, disembodied voices and a keyboard scale enhance it so effectively. The laser beam phasers of "Scraping Past" begin to fufill as a guitar solo would. The Blade Runner-esque synth pads of "Winter Vacation" add a heavenly quality to an otherwise simple drum machine. The slowly mounting white noise on "Recent Bedroom" make a fascinating tension between beauty and abrasiveness. But the best parts are instrumental tracks like "Ready Set Glow", "After Class" and the title track, which become otherworldly in their simplicity, matching the dreamy aura of similar minded experimentalists (Brian Eno, Panda Bear). It's individual highlights are so good that they almost overshadow the fact that Let The Blind Lead... achieves a certain coherence that very few singer-songwriters seem capable of. It begins with a ghost story, and the rest of the album follows suit, settling into a spectral groove of relentless supernaturalism and beauty. This kind of intimacy and ethereal pulse gets attempted all the time, but not enough of those attempts really get down the single-minded perfection that My Bloody Valentine's masterpiece, Loveless, so stunningly exhibited 17 years ago. This is perhaps the closest anyone will ever get.

Los Campesinos! - Hold On Now, Youngster (2008)

2008-02-14T11:12:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

With Hold On Now, Youngster, I will never judge a book by it's cover again. Los Campesinos! is a band that's made themselves known through Myspace. They're a band that, when described, sounds completely void of anything new or original. They're a band who, being on the same label as Stars and Broken Social Scene, have a lot to live up to, and at the offset, very little suggests that they can. And yet somehow, they succeed where so many other generic, quirky , "up-and-coming" indie rock bands fail. Or maybe their followers are just too busy dancing their asses off to see otherwise.

Hold On Now, Youngster mostly stays in one mode: spastic, wired and zany. One can imagine the band composed of a bunch of melodramatic 9 year olds, stuffed with a day's worth of sugar and let loose. Occasionally, a J Mascis-esque guitar lead will surface, but otherwise, sounds buzz and bounce off the walls in a speed-induced rush, supporting the anything-goes, shout-as-much-as-you-can-NOW vocals (What do you expect from a band with a song titled "You!Me!Dancing!"). But wedged between lightning charged keyboards and glockenspiels, is a startlingly sincere and poetic core. As a matter of fact, you can approach the album as a touching and emotional masterpiece just as much as you can approach it as a fun joyride. "My Year In Lists" is a 2 minute lesson in advanced poetry that every Dashboard Confessional in the world would benefit from. It's companion piece, "Knee Deep In ATP" gets a little sappy, but makes up for it with brilliant structure that switches from high-octane spazz-pop to tenderly epic and back again. And speaking of tender epics, the closer, "The Year Punk Rock Broke My Heart" pulls a move that's typical of an Arts & Crafts band and builds beautifully driving, hair-standing tension for 3 minutes, that, every single time it's played, hits just as hard as the first time you heard it.

I've developed an extremely close relationship to Hold On Now Youngster, and I'm sure I won't be the last person to do so.. Its nearly limitless youthful exuberance and affecting nostalgia means it's an album made to be loved and cherished. In The Aeroplane Over The Sea comes to mind, and not just because we've reached a 10 year anniversary for the cult classic (nor is it because the whole album is also done in a single key). It's just the intimacy I feel listening to it. Now, I'm not suggesting that it has even half the depth of that masterpiece (well, maybe at least half), but it is capable of affecting someone in the same way. Now, I'm not suggesting that it has even half the depth of that masterpiece, but it's certainly capable of affecting someone in the same way. When I first obsessed over In The Aeroplane in my teenage years, it was a snapshot of my childhood. Now, a few years later, Hold On Now Youngster takes me back to high school - the haze of discovering Pavement and Sonic Youth, dancing alone in my room, racing shopping carts and blowing fireworks to escape the seemingly all-enveloping confusion of puberty, angst and drama.

Have A Nice Life - Deathconsciousness (2008)

2008-02-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

The 2000's are coming to a close and for a long time, it appeared this decade's crowning lo-fi achievement would be The Glow Pt. 2. But for every Pavement, there's bound to be a Guided By Voices, and it looks like The Microphones are finally gonna have to share their throne with Have A Nice Life because their debut, Deathconsciousness is a sprawling double album that emerges as a transcendent, emotional masterpiece. And this much is clear even before listening to the damn thing. It's plastic case is twice as big as a normal cd jewel case and will stick out like a sore thumb in your collection. It was composed over the course of nearly six years and is supplemented with a 75 page booklet that's filled with history lessons and theories that strengthen it's enormous themes of death and religion. But it's epic scope isn't just on the surface; every repeat listen further reveals it's ambitions to be bigger than anything released this decade. This is all the more striking considering the fact that it's an mail-order-only release, from a completely unknown duo that is essentially a personal bedroom recording project, based in Connecticut of all places. But we get the sense that Tim and Dan aren't trying to become successful musicians, or even musicians at all. They're simply obscure philosophers and this is the soundtrack to their byzantine ideas.

Despite such complex conceptual motives, the musical ideas on Deathconsciousness are strikingly bare. Unlike Phil Elvrum who tended to show off his dynamic range, Have A Nice Life let their somber progressions sit, gaining resonance and power with droning repetition while they layer it with swirling patterns of emotive vocals. Every moment of vulnerability is expanded like taffy to it's breaking point, drenched in a subterranean, lo-fi mist and driven by industrial drum machines that make it sound like it's been recorded in a boiler room. The result is a mix of Post Punk, Shoegaze and Post Rock, but what Deathconsciousness accomplishes is beyond genre. "A Quick One Before The Eternal Worm..." is stunningly spacious and formless whereas the furious punk of "Waiting For Black Metal Records..." and "The Future" are condensed blasts of rage. The heartbreaking depths of "Who Would Leave Their Son...", "The Big Gloom" and "I Don't Love" are bottomless while the mind-shattering "Earthmover" rises past heaven in true GY!BE fashion. And interludes like "There Is No Food" and "Deep Deep" exhibit barricades of impenetrable sound and texture.

Affectionately advertised by it's creators as "the most depressing album ever made" and running past 85 minutes, a full listen to Deathconsciousness can be exhausting. But anyone who meets it halfway will likely have a religious experience. With the exception of the tired "Telephony", Deathconsciousness is nearly perfect. It plays not like an album, but like a powerful film. Unfortunately, getting a hold of this little-known gem can be a pain, but I can't stress enough that Deathconsciousness should not be missed by anyone.

Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend (2008)

2008-01-23T13:00:00.000-08:00

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Vampire Weekend couldn't have picked a better name for themselves. Vampires are an inherently serious species, championing their purity and inhuman superiority above all other creatures. Their humor is dry and their pride is unmatched. Actually, their similarity to stereotypical hipsters in today's indie subculture is uncanny. But even Vampires need to take a break from all that strict doom and gloom sometimes and have some fun. Hopefully Vampire Weekend's joyful self titled LP will also be a wake up call for all indie snobs to just turn off their brain and enjoy themselves. You see, Vampire Weekend contains all the regal conventions of a pitchfork-darling debut: originated from New York City, slurred vocals ala Arctic Monkeys, obscure influences (Afro-Pop, David Byrne, Paul Simon) and a quirky, "cleverer-than-thou" approach. But the music doesn't dare take itself any more seriously than a tip-toe-through-the-tulips, fun-in-the-sun, dance on the beach. I suppose that's why the band has been called The Strokes of 2008. In terms of sound, they're pretty far apart, but both of their debuts feel so simple, effortless and well...fun. Remember when music was just fun? Take apart their background and what you have should be high-art. But look at the result and what you have is simply a good time. Perhaps that's where all the backlash for these NME cover bands comes from. When music this simple and carefree gets big, people just tend to over-think it. Or maybe they're just angry that they didn't think of it first. Whatever the reason is behind hating them, let this be a plea to everyone to let go of their suspicions, because without it, Vampire Weekend will bring joy to your life like no other.

The Magnetic Fields - Distortion (2008)

2008-01-14T00:05:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

By now, we should be keenly aware of Stephen Merritt's laziness when it comes to album titles. 69 Love Songs was literally 69 songs about love, i was a bunch of songs starting with the letter I, and Distortion is...well...distorted...for the entirety of the album. Think Jesus And Mary Chain style screeching noise and reverb drums blanketing syrupy pop hooks and you've pretty much heard this album. But as generic as some of these songs are ("Till The Bitter End", "Mr. Misletoe" and "California Girls" could've been cut), it's still nice to see Magnetic Fields forge an actual album. Their last two works supposedly had concepts behind them, but musically there was absolutely no connection between any of their songs. i hardly had an identity in and of itself; it might as well have been called 14 More Love Songs. Distortion at least benefits from having a recognizable sound and unity amongst it's tracks. Oh and also from the catchy melodies, as usual. "Three Way" sounds like a shoegazer update to the opener of David Bowie's Low. The quirky "Xavier Says" and kinky "The Nun's Litany" are beaming with exuberance. "Old Fools" is just plain gorgeous, nearly rivaling the heartbreaking closer, "Courtesans", while "Drive On Driver" is a festive square dance slowed down and led by a whirlwind of guitar and synths.

From Santa Clause and Miseltoe mentions to it's romantically twinkling haze, Distortion is a traditionally dull Christmas album at heart. Most of the songs' whimsy and even some of the melodies fit in comfortably right next to well known carols. But what makes it worthwhile is how Stephen Merrit, with his cynical whiskey soaked approach to otherwise joyful pop anthems, refuses to conform to the cliche heartwarming standards of most winter jingles. When you hear him morosely hollering on the acapella intro of "Too Drunk to Dream", "sober life is a prison, shit faced it is a blessing," you know this isn't quite the holiday cd of choice for family gatherings (unless your family contains alcoholics and a nun who's aspiring to be a topless waitress). It's quintessentially Magnetic Fields, and well, that's saying something.

The Mars Volta - The Bedlam In Goliath (2008)

2008-01-12T01:20:00.000-08:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

There is a lot to love about The Mars Volta: their sound, their style, their insane live shows and stage antics, their goofy afros, their drive to integrate prog, electronica and dissonance into punk, their knack for grasping Can-like grooves and bringing epic intensity to the forefront. The only thing that's frustrating about them is actually listening to them. Or at least on The Bedlam In Goliath it is. There definitely once was a time when they were the aural equivalent of ice cream for many (or, as on Amputechture, a tasty pastry). Unfortunately, Frances The Mute was around the time that half of those people decided that they tasted and looked more like broccoli. It's an interesting thing, how little kids interact with the strange-looking vegetable. A common reaction is to only eat the flower heads of broccoli and throw away the stalk. Similarly, Frances The Mute gave fans enough to bite into, but half the people who tried to get full stomach from it, just ended up with a nasty taste in their mouth.

The Bedlam In Goliath may sound close to Amputechture, but it's disappointment is closer to Frances The Mute. It has it's share of heart-pumping peaks, but also too many dull valleys, plagued with angst-ridden, mind numbing sameness. Omar is still constantly dry humping his guitar, the band is still on a needlessly twisting, high speed chase to nowhere in particular and Cedric's lyrics are still poetic nonsense. "I've got a penis that could rip through the very fabric of time," is one of the few lines on the whole album that stands out from his usual projectile vomiting and it sadly illustrates just how striking The Mars Volta could be if they just put a little more of their power into actually engaging their listeners. De-Loused In The Comatorium took no prisoners and went straight for the throat, something that slithering tracks such as "Wax Simulacra", "Ouroborous" and "Goliath", do with ferocious results. But too often on this overlong mess, the band is overlooking their strengths in favor of a towering wall of auditory masturbation.

El-P - I'll Sleep When You're Dead (2007)

2007-12-18T21:08:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

For all it's paranoia driven anxieties, dark subject matter and terrifying atmosphere, El-P's second solo album feels, oddly enough, like a comedy. Check out "Smithereens (Stop Crying)," which opens with a playful children's theme song for the first ten seconds, before El-P demands the music to bring him "the dramatic intro...machine." Suddenly the song is abused by an exaggeratedly brooding synth march before transforming into a militaristic horror-groove. If that's not enough to get you chuckling, try listening to a line like, "why should I be sober when god is so clearly dusted out his mind" with a straight face. And there's a reason why "Habeas Corpses," the disturbing story of a futuristic forbidden love between soldier and prisoner, is delivered with laughter at the end of the track. El-P certainly has a sense of humor about his cynical views, which is why I'll Sleep When You're Dead is so successful. Like on Eminem's early albums, everything is delivered tongue-in-cheek so that when he really goes off the deep end into despair and desperation, you never get too overwhelmed. Still, that's not to say that you shouldn't take this album seriously. If I'll Sleep When You're Dead had to be classified as a single sub-genre of comedy, it would probably be Satire, the most serious-minded of all the styles. You can hear El-P dripping with contempt and sarcasm when he litters stripped down club tracks like "E.T.M." and "No Kings" with hellish dance-chants and cynical-minded observations of corrupt cops and drug addictions. The Hyphy and Crunk movements are at the peak of their popularity and to this rapper, the connections between the downfall of serious hip hop and the downfall of society is worth laughing about. It may be easy to regard his Bukowskian outlook as a little excessive, but he addresses all possible criticisms appropriately on "Drive": "I'm not depressed, man. I'm just a fucking New Yorker who knows that sittin' in traffic with these bastards is torture." In every respect, once you wade through the layers of scornful muck on I'll Sleep When You're Dead, you'll find this producer's latest to be one of his most pointed, playful and effective works to date.

Quasimoto - The Unseen (2000)

2007-11-15T10:23:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

It's a shame that your imagination never really matches the rampant power it contains when you're a kid. Before you've learned everything you can about the world and before you develop any clear definition of reality, your hyper-sensitive mind is capable of running wild with creativity. That's why so many toddlers have imaginary friends. Most will decry it as an adolescent obsession with fantasy, but I see it as more of an exhibition of the true creativity kids have before they grow old, mature and lose that essential spark of inventiveness.

The origin of Madlib's imaginary friend and moniker, a pig nosed yellow hippo named Quasimoto, is probably attributed to the fact that he (supposedly) recorded this album in the midst of a week-long binge on shrooms. But the true drug of choice is weed; The Unseen is the most blunted haze of an album since Cypress Hill's glory days. The lyrical content is abundant with stoner jargon and sentiments while Quasimoto's helium-induced delivery is as bored and listless as potheads get. Plus the lines themselves are pretty sluggish and weak on their own - it sounds like one too many spliffs have been smoked. Meanwhile, Madlib's beats are deliberately subdued and disorienting, filled with faint loops and understated touches that usually reveal themselves when listened to in altered states of mind, and the nature of the tracks cater directly to ADD patients, running extremely short and abruptly cutting out or changing completely. All cannabis culture nods aside though, Madlib and his demented alter ego have crafted a twinkling collection of smooth jazz-rap beats; sort of a twisted update of A Tribe Called Quest. Yes, there's plenty of druggy "what-the-fuck?" excursions ("Astro Travellin" and "Come On Feet", which has Madlib and Quas lazily struggling to encourage their feet to not fall asleep), but there's also sublimely soulful ballads ("MHBs"), chill elevator music grooves ("Axe Puzzles", "The Unseen"), tributes to Madlib's obscure Jazz record collection ("Jazz Cats Pt.1", "Return Of The Loop Digga"), hard hitting faux-battle raps ("Put A Curse On You", "Boom Music") and, in true Q-Tip and Phife Dawg fashion, countless down to earth criticisms of accepted hip hop stereotypes ("Real Eyes", "Bluffin").

The Unseen is so impressive because by reverting to his inner-childish self, Madlib has released a plethora of surging creativity; a collage of ideas spanning in all sorts of directions, overlapping and colliding with the attention span of gas molecules. For that same reason it can be a strange listen, with nothing really pulling the jarring samples, off-kilter rhymes and fragments together into a cohesive whole. However, the best way to understand Quasimoto is to listen to him through the perception of his creator. In other words, as Madlib kindly suggests on "Return Of The Loop Digga," "Throw this record on, pack a bowl, take a hit."

Battles - Mirrored (2007)

2007-11-13T01:34:00.000-08:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

When trying to describe Battles, I've been driven towards all sorts of interesting analogies I thought I'd never in my life be able to use. A high speed scooter joyride through an industrial nuclear power plant. Alvin and the chipmunks trapped in a strobe-lit high-tech laboratory with King Crimson's Discipline playing on repeat. A carnival freakshow goes post rock. Transformers. Glitch rock. Saturday morning cartoons with steroids. These descriptions alone are going to get a lot of people giving the album a listen, but are they enough to establish Mirrored as album of the year? No, even though everyone will undoubtedly cite it's uniqueness as an attraction point. The first song they'll let all their friends listen to is the alien-like single, "Atlas" where Marilyn Manson style industrial filth is married to a club friendly beat, circus music guitars and the vocal stylings of hundreds of hardworking underground dwarves. Or they might point to the first half of "Rainbows," a teetering prog-rock implosion waiting to happen Animaniacs style - hammer bonks and goofy cartoon chases through rabbit holes and winding tunnels. These are spectacular songs, but what makes Mirrored one of the best albums of 2007, is when you can sense that the band is doing so much more than novelty. It's revolutionary. They're not just messing around; the constructs of this music is a complex fusion of man and machine and the end product is serious driving rock. The impenetrable King Crimson influenced jam sessions are invigorating enough, but when the band is also tinkering and experimenting with computers and loops as if they were simply another instrument, the process is refreshing in ways that haven't been done by any rock band yet. "Tonto" has a somber progression that's driven by a restless guitar line and cpu induced voices that resemble wild forest animals. "Bad Trails" is a tense tribal soundscape cluttered with dense digital effects and "Tij" takes off from samples of wheezes and heaves into a sinister slice of chaos with ricochet guitars and kinetic keyboards.

The majority of people who go into Battles unprepared could very well reduce them to the kind of thing you let your friends listen to almost as a joke. When I heard the head scratching "Ddiamondd," composed of whistles, techno breakdowns, and Mickey Mouse on speed, I thought the same thing. But it would be one of this decade's greatest tragedies if that's all Mirrored was known for. Sit through the off-kilter oddities and you'll find at the end of the day that Battles are not fucking around. You'll have your ass kicked in every direction at once and then served to you on a platter. And you'll see that this band has delivered the future of rock music, whether or not we're able to comprehend it as such.

King Crimson - In The Wake of Poseidon (1970)

2007-11-07T22:33:00.000-08:00

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Don't get me wrong: if a band has a distinctive sound that works, then chances are it's a better choice for them to drive that sound into the ground with slight variation, rather than move on, attempt something radically different and fail miserably. But this is too much. This is the kind of bullshit you'd expect Nickelback to come up with, but not freaking King Crimson! Yet lo and behold: most of the follow up to In The Court Of The Crimson King is practically a carbon copy of that critically acclaimed classic. Sometimes this translates into very good things. "Pictures Of A City" isn't nearly as immediately impressive as "21'st Century Schizoid Man," but it still has invigorating twists and turns that keep you glued to your seat for the lengthy solo section. And "Cadence And Cascade" is every bit as stunningly beautiful as "I Talk To The Wind." Unfortunately, the bloated title track falls flat on it's face by trying to over-dramatically emulate "Epitaph," which wasn't a very interesting song in the first place. And if "The Devil's Triangle" was gonna play the part of "Moonchild" it could at the very least have some of the beautiful balladry that offsetted the aimless unrestrained wankery that followed. Instead it packs as much pointlessness as it possibly can in 11 minutes. The epic conceptual textures can't take away from the fact that it goes absolutely nowhere. What makes it even more frustrating is that the few new things they try are just as worthless. "Cat Food" is a head-scratcher that sounds totally out of place and the "Peace" interludes are all pleasant enough but ultimately add nothing to the album. But hey, Robert Fripp has has rarely ever kept King Crimson in one place for an extended period of time. Their musical style has shifted and changed about as much as their members have, so the occasional redundant blunder such as this is probably forgivable.

Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007)

2007-10-11T21:06:00.000-07:00

5.0 ★/10.0

Buffered by the controversy of its unique release, few will be able to judge In Rainbows simply for what it is. Indeed, it seems that almost every review has begun with a discussion about the “pay-as-much-as-you-want” internet-only release (this one included). Perhaps it’s justifiable. The creativity and balls that Radiohead showed with their experiment was refreshing, to say the least. Nevermind the implications it suggested to the music industry; just think about the profound experience fans must’ve had, waiting till midnight on October 9’th, 2007. Released merely ten days after it’s announcement, In Rainbows never had a chance to lose momentum. There was no chance for a leak. Fans didn’t have to deal with that slow anti-climatic process of waiting months and months after a release date is announced, then drag themselves to the nearest record store during their lunch break. Everyone heard the album at the exact same time and, for a single night, a record release was once again an event. But with this understanding of how exciting the experience of the album was, it might be easy to overlook the material itself. So it's relieving that after the dust settles, In Rainbows remains one of those rare albums that actually completely lives up to its hype. Quite simply, every single song works; an accomplishment which, this late in Radiohead’s career, may finally be enough to cement their ranking in the same tier as the Fab Four themselves.

That often-made comparison between Radiohead and The Beatles may be a bit of a cliché, but that doesn’t make it any less true, especially when examined on an album-to-album basis. You see, Pablo Honey represents the entirety of The Beatles' pre-Rubber Soul work - pleasant, but ultimately shallow, dated and ordinary. The Bends, much like Rubber Soul, was the band's first sign of ambition. Although firmly rooted in the same style, it showed mastery of the form, greater depth, and hints of future experimentations. Taking the place of Revolver, OK Computer pushed that adventurism to the forefront and introduced the “new Radiohead” as we know them now - paranoid, uneasy, and brilliant. Kid A, however, was their Sgt. Pepper. It was their single-minded and bodied statement, their great leap into the unknown and their vie for perfection. And then they dropped their White Album with Hail To The Thief: a sprawling work that went in all directions at once. So, as you guessed it, In Rainbows completes the parallel and functions as Radiohead's Abbey Road. On it, Radiohead take their last 10 years of experimentation and graft it onto their old style of songwriting, resulting in a work that concisely sums up their career in 10 distinct tracks.

Each song captures a different side of Radiohead, clear already from the drastic differences between the two leading singles; “Jigsaw Falling Into Place,” plays like “A Wolf At The Door” sped up, capturing the frantic Radiohead in their most paranoid form, whereas the dub version of long time fan-favorite, “Nude,” is quite possibly the most beautiful and reserved thing they’ve ever put to tape. But, of course, it has major competition with “Reckoner”. Initially, the album’s centerpiece feels underwhelming in comparison to every other track and comes off as the weakest of them all. But as the band has insightfully stated in interviews, In Rainbows’ two halves are held together by the song’s understated pianos and string arrangements, and repeat listens reveal it to be a gorgeous and essential piece of the album.

This brings up another similarity to Abbey Road, which is that In Rainbows is always relentlessly beautiful – warm and lush, where their other albums since the big change in sound (OK Computer and onward), were cold and a little detached. Even Yorke's lyrics open up to some of the accessibility he abandoned after The Bends (“I don’t want to be your friend, I just want to be your lover”). Appropriately, “15 Step” feels like their own "Come Together": cool, calculated, groove centered and unafraid of utilizing human sounds, like handclaps and a chorus of cheering children. It introduces the listener to a band that's regained complete control of their direction and production (which is in stark contrast to the Radiohead on Hail To The Thief that sounded nearly possessed; trapped in their own minds and enslaved by their fears). Adversely, “Bodysnatchers” is an unhinged beast, comprised of Yorke’s menacing snarls and some of the most furious Greenwood-signature riffage since “Electioneering.” It’s the kind of song we thought they’d never make again. But then again, the peaceful "House Of Cards" is the kind of song we thought they'd never make, period; a catchy, carefree island theme song, whose only traces of Radiohead-origins lies in the submerged reverb and alien noodling between verses. And it’s just as exhilerating to see an acoustic track making the cut (“Faust ARP”). Even if it’s just an interlude, it prevails as an infinitely re-playable folk song.

In song of the year category, there's “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi”, where (surprise) arpeggiated guitar arrangements and Ed O’ Brien's stirring background moans strengthen what is already one of the album's most dramatic moments. "All I Need" is even better. The song begins to evolve out of nothingness. A sparse hip hop beat and electronic bass that sounds ready to cough up phlegm makes a spacious atmosphere. Yorke’s voice goes into R&B mode, dishing out sincerely romantic lines. The band tinkers and toys subtly with glockenspiel while bizarre noises rush up and disappear without warning. And then after enough head-bopping, a wonderful piano line rises out of the surface breaking the ever-constant tension. Strings waver, then implode, and Yorke’s voice soars into heaven with the rest of the band ala “Let Down”. But as grand as In Rainbows gets in its most climactic moments, it’s usually defined by spaciousness, and so it’s perfect that it ends with “Videotape”. Once cluttered with symphonic strings and epic guitars in its live incarnation, the studio version barely exists under a quiet piano progression and a deathly electronic march-beat. The minimalism seems to be in direct contrast with the closer of Radiohead’s other magnum-opus, Kid A, and is the final conceptual stamp the album needs to establish it as a complimentary masterpiece to that classic.

It's obvious that Radiohead knew that they knew they were composing a perfect album here. In interviews, Ed O’ Brien called it the last great album they needed in order to secure a legacy, and Thom Yorke cleverly makes his last line on the album, “I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen.” Fans may have trouble shaking off the feeling that the album feels a bit too much like a collection of leftovers from throughout the band’s career, but that too, feels like it was part of the concept. Kid A and In Rainbows form two sides of the same coin. The former is conceptually precise with very few individual moments rising above the overall experience, while the latter is a scattershot collection of nothing but shining individual moments. And both are, track-for-track, two of the most accomplished and stimulating musical works of art of the decade.

My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade (2006)

2007-10-03T20:56:00.000-07:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

For some, 2005 probably went down as the year that they struggled to make their friends and family give Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge an honest open minded listen. In retrospect, they probably would've had an easier time defending the artistic credibility of Pink. It seems today that there's nothing people enjoy hating more than snot-nosed whiny kids from suburbs who dress and act hardcore, but are actually distributing melodramatic guitar pop with whiny processed vocals: "Emo." And it's pretty easy to pigeonhole My Chemical Romance into that genre. Their neo-goth clothes, eyeliner obsessed vocalist and MTV airplay all point to peers such as The Used and Taking Back Sunday. But that's where the justification ends. Their metallic guitar wankery have Iron Maiden written all over it while their high octane energy brings to mind At The Drive In. Plus their lyrics embrace high-concept indulgences. (zombie spaghetti westerns?) With the exception of "The Ghost Of You" and "Cemetery Drive," Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge was anything but Emo.

With The Black Parade, their ambition is even more evident, through their newly enlisted horn section, devised concept complete with outfits to boot, and bizarre collaborations, including Liza Minnelli. What's more surprising are the cues taken from incluences such as Sgt. Pepper, Smashing Pumpkins and especially the 70's. On The Black Parade MCR flexes their flair for the dramatic, touching upon everything from the operatic grandeur of Queen ("Welcome To The Black Parade") to the glam stylings of T-Rex ("Teenagers"). "The End" sounds like a Roger Waters composition circa 1979. It's acoustic guitar balladry opens a floodgate of lurching, epic, heavy guitar, and we can see The Wall rising in the distance in all it's overblown glory. Following that cue, they take liberties successfully using and abusing the tried-and-true formula for the glorious power ballad. Track after track we get powerful arena worthy anthems such as "I Don't Love You", "Disenchanted", and "Cancer" that remind us what it was like when waving our lighters was not cliche, but sincere.

Sadly, the album is still rooted in MCR's established formula, which hasn't aged well in the past two years, resulting some mediocre moments that seriously drag the work down; "This Is How I Disappear", "House of Wolves" and "The Sharpest Lives" are as boring as mainstream monster rock gets and what emerges is an album that doesn't have the coherence nor consistency as their past two efforts. But still, the band is on to something here. Many didn't get to live through the age of concept albums but they really missed out: the pomp, the high concept drama, the idea that you can have something important to say and not have to take yourself too seriously. My Chemical Romance have not only completely spit in the face of anyone ready to damn them with the "Emo" tag; they've also given people of the current young generation a chance to experience the wonder and awe that we would've felt during an era long gone.

Sly And The Family Stone - There's A Riot Goin' On (1971)

2007-10-01T23:12:00.000-07:00

5.0 ★/10.0

Parallel to the rise of social activism and civil rights protests of the 60's, Sly And The Family Stone was releasing the soundtracks of their time, with a triumphal fusion of soul, rock, R&B, psychedellia, and funk. They most successfully absorbed and represented the summer of love vibes on their 1969 classic, Stand!, which accurately defines the late 60's through a communal "shout-out-loud" style and clear addressing of politics. Listening to Stand! was a celebration, a call for revolution and no other album speaks for that period better. But the fact remains that the late 60's was essentially a big party. One with good intentions, but a party nonetheless, and every hard party has it’s hangover. The 70's began to loom over the horizon with all of this shining promise from the previous decade...and yet...nothing happened. And when time came for Sly's next album, there was no more radiating enthusiasm for revolution anymore. On the contrary, between the assassination of MLK and Malcolm X and a new population of drug addicts and abusers being formed, there was a real hopelessness permeating the social atmosphere.

The spirit of There’s A Riot Goin On resides in that era of shattered dreams and disappointments. The Family Stone was coming out of those few years of revelry in shambles. They had become pretty fixated on partying and drug usage and Sly in particular had developed major addictions, consequently arriving late to or sometimes completely missing shows. When he did appear, his behavior was erratic enough that people began to seriously worry about his mental health. He would act extremely paranoid, even of those close to him, and went as far as to hire bodyguards and gangsters to protect him. The recording sessions for his upcoming album were just as affected. Unlike previous albums, Sly was recording practically all of the instruments himself with overdubs. He holed himself up either in his mansion or his self-built studio and would rarely come out, often recording his vocals while being strung out on a bed or couch. He built every track on drum loops from a rhythm box rather than live drums and that only heightened the insular mood. Plus, he constantly missed deadlines. On his contract, Sly had owed Epic a new album at least a year, before he actually got it to the CBS studios. And it must’ve been pretty frustrating to have, after a full year of delay, received an album as hard to market or sell as Sly’s new creation.

Don't get me wrong, the tracks were packed to the gill with hooks. Just check out the mid-tempo single, "Family Affair", the light syrupy vibes of "You Caught Me Smilin" or the gorgeous bubble gum pop of "Runnin' Away", enunciated beautifully by Rose Stone. And the in-your-face pop-funk that "Brave & Strong" authors, would eventually become extremely popular (not to mention the song's rhythm, which would be excessively sampled by countless hip hop artists in the future). But the recordings themselves were so extensively over dubbed, re-recorded and edited that the mastered versions came out drenched in hiss and buzz. The songs didn’t jump out like everything Sly had done before, because the production rendered them dry and damp, more low-key than anything else. As a matter of fact, hooks aside, most of the songs don't really build up or move anywhere. After the opener, "Luv N’ Haight", introduces it's apocalyptic chorus, it gets right into the album's mission statement: "Feels so good inside myself, don’t need to move," Sly hollers in the slithery verse. Consequently, track after track is found just lingering in their hazy junkie holes. Between the sluggish bass, scattered moans, and formless guitar lines, you literally can almost hear the weed being puffed on the R&B ballad, "Just Like A Baby". "Time"'s impressive compositional shifts can't shake off the disorienting keyboard effects and lazy, strung-out Blues that make it the equivalent of smoking a blunt on a hangover. And "Spaced Cowboy" may have a serious descending progression, but the inclusion of yodeling and a harmonica solo add a "what-the-hell?" factor that could've only come out of narcotic influenced noodling. Overall, There’s A Riot Goin On is a stoned out, muddy, almost funereal, mess of an attempt at a hard funk album. And yet that very messiness lends it timelessness, because it’s perfectly appropriate. Sly was burned out, stoned out, and stingingly cynical and so was his music, portraying drugs as he was experiencing them: seductive and enticing medications that ultimately disrupt motivation and encourage alienation. The production was perfect for this state of mind and, combined with the soulful, free form funk grooves, spontaneous instrumental interplay and few smooth pop melodies, made the jarring and impenetrable There’s A Riot Goin On one of the most essential albums of the 70's, containing within it’s murky depths, the most chill, laid-back music you will ever hear. The sexy sounding bass and keyboards of "Poet", for example, oozes urban coolness. Despite being nothing more than an interlude, it's a major highlight because of how loose the recording feels. As a matter of fact, it’s hard to believe that the song came out of anything other than a warm up jam session. Which brings to mind the album's effortless centerpieces, "Africa Talks To You The Asphalt Jungle" and "Thank You For Talkin Me To Africa". Combined, these two epic jam sessions are the true icing on the cake that makes There's a Riot Goin' On so perfect. In the former, ensemble group vocals match and even surpass anything from Stand!, but are used for the complete opposite: to mock the hippies and idealists left over from the summer of love with a savage uproar of “Timmmmbeeer...all fall down!” In the latter, an infectiously head-bopping, thick bass driven, dirge-like tempo resides over the sun setting, while Sly and his group take a final bow to their fans who stuck with them all the way to the last track: “Thank you for letting me be myself!” In both tracks, guitar and keyboard are pushed to the front as they nervously pop and crackle, trading off impressively sharp and spastic lines throughout and competing with each other in fractured bursts of escalation and release.

But truly, every track on There’s A Riot Goin On is worth mentioning and examining. What really makes it a perfect album is simply the way it sounds and how that contributes to such a uniquely singular experience. The album’s drug-induced message is conveyed in every minute aspect of it. The way the bass endlessly jerks, while the guitar stumbles over it almost randomly, captures the state of altered mental activity perfectly. The song structures thrive on repetition that bounce and groove with the single-mindedness of someone who’s definitely on something. Sly’s lines and sentiments always make a strong case for laziness and the slacker generation. Yes, it’s weak and devoid of any sort of energy, but the charm lies in that Sly embraces that, and devotes everything on the album to defending it, with enough stunning clarity to author a masterpiece.

Broken Social Scene - Feel Good Lost (2001)

2007-05-04T22:58:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Broken Social Scene is best known for their sophomore effort, You Forgot It In People, which became acknowledged by most critics as a modern masterpiece filled with masterfully gritty and passionate indie rock and pop. Meanwhile, their early work usually gets overlooked. Hopefully that will change, however, with the reissue of their debut album.

Those looking for the immediate brilliance of You Forgot It In People are gonna come away from this one underwhelmed, because Feel Good Lost is comprised almost solely of instrumental soundtrack-like pieces; vulnerable, affecting soundscapes sculpted from shimmering guitar tones and atmosphere. It’s no surprise considering that in the time from this album to their “sophomore jump”, their band membership expanded from 2 to 20. The mood here is less garage and more intimate. Vocals only appear in two songs, and in one of them, they’re so warbled and drenched in reverb that they resemble something closer to sound effects than a human live voice (Think “Anthems For A 17 Year Old” except less structured). But even though that very track, “Passport Radio” is a major highlight, those willing to let their minds daze off into the ever pulsing drones will be just as impressed by the instrumental bulk of the album because this isn’t just dull and redundant ambiance. The songs don’t wander; they drift with purpose. Subtle textures hold the listener’s attention as instruments drift in and out without any weight. In recent years, post rock bands have begun to follow the same patterns: quiet, loud, quiet, loud, repeat. But Feel Good Lost reminds us that songs don’t need to catch your ear to necessarily impress. Admittedly, the diversity and sprawling brilliance exhibited on later efforts is clearly missing. There’s simply not enough “oomph” or "balls-on-the-floor" impressiveness (even though, ironically, their post-YFFIP material has too much of that). But there are some late players which break from the standard fare and succeed wildly, such as the reflective, chugging “Stomach Song” (with sing-speaking that, oddly enough, recalls the disturbing online web-cartoon, Salad Fingers) or the joyous closer of the set, “Cranley’s Gonna Make It” which foreshadows the shimmery tropical styling of “Pacific Theme” and “Looks Just Like The Sun”.

This music is strictly for isolation; to explore with headphones, listen to on long train rides through the countryside, or fall to sleep to. Sure, they went on to do something much more diversified, but this has got enough beauty and awe to speak for itself. Anyone interested in post rock, ambiance, or just hopeful, calming, instrumental music needs to own this.

Stars - Set Yourself On Fire (2004)

2007-04-04T14:01:00.000-07:00

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

How appropriate is it that an album, whose sole purpose seems to be to soundtrack those long drives in the rain after breaking up with a long term lover, opens with a song titled, “Your Ex Lover Is Dead”? A gale of classical sounding sorrowful strings rushes in and sets the introspective tone of the track. The two main vocalists, Torquil Campbell and Amy Milan take turns reciting clearly spoken verses, and relaying the minute observations of a failed love while the crescendos and marching drums enhance the narrative, before building up into an awesome harmonization between the two: “There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave, You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave, I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over, I'm not sorry there's nothing to save”. If you are not clinging to the closest pillow or stuffed animal at this point, you surely must not have a soul. One could dismiss the band as overblown sentimentalists, but the best thing about the album is how restrained each of the songs are. They know when it’s appropriate to stay ambiguous and when to burst out with oozing passion. "He Lied About Death" is a pedestrian attack on George Bush, but succeeds because the way the track builds up abrasive tension, adding more and more digital fuzz and noise before Campbell drops the line “tomorrow it's you and me...”, and the whole scene explodes in an enraged French horn solo. Evidently, Stars' mastery of volume must come with the territory of being on Art & Crafts (label-mates with Broken Social Scene - another purveyor of the crescendo), but it’s hardly an old trick. Their dynamics are what make the shimmering ethereal qualities of “Calendar Girl” stand out and inspire the gradually increasing wall of sound on the glitch pop influenced “The First Five Times” or the epic closing jam session of “One More Night (Your Ex Lover Remains Dead). And on the title track, the band seems to challenge themselves to throw as many harmonies and varying ideas into a single seamless composition as they possibly can. Yes, “The Big Fight” is almost too mushy for it’s own good, and sometimes a monotone song like “Sleep Tonight” just sounds lazy in comparison to their more daring tracks. But they’re only small blotches in the bigger picture: that Stars have released an album that breathes new energy, sophistication and creativity into a stagnating contemporary pop style.

Cat Power - Moon Pix (1998)

2007-02-17T00:05:00.000-08:00

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Many people look up to female musicians because they're an empowering image of the confidence and accomplishments that a woman can attain in a male-dominated world which purportedly aims to keep females in social and psychological depression. You know the scenes - burn the bras, riot grrl, etc. Chan Marshall definitely isn’t one of those musicians. Anyone who's seen her live has had experience with her shambling performances. Her nervousness on stage insures that those looking for inspiration are gonna come out malcontent. Besides, her music isn’t exactly the confident stuff your average feminist would want to keep in her collection anyways. Moon Pix, in particular, sounds like the consequence of too many lonely hazy nights spent browsing black-and-white photos of dead loved ones. But with it, Chan proves you don't need an empowering image to be accomplished.

Previous Cat Power albums were urgent and amateur sounding while Moon Pix’s astute mixing suggests more aesthetic thinking. There are sophisticated and subtle textures at work that make it as unsettling and confrontational as Chan's early work, such as the intricate guitar interplay on "No Sense" or the plodding backwards drums and gentle feedback on "American Flag." But while Chan’s songs are no longer exhaustive with conflict, they’re still emotionally resounding. The guitar line on "Say" is as desolate as the gray skies and thunder storm sound effects it inspires. And that’s before Chan’s desperately pleading whine is hauntingly over dubbed to suggest sheer heartbreak. There’s a certain sarcastic bitterness when she sings, “Never give up,” and “no one is around but we’ll always love you”. And surprisingly enough, it’s not all hopelessness. "You May Know Him", an acoustic guitar ballad, suggests more optimism than any of Chan’s other recordings. “Lord, I've never doubted for an instant...you came through,” she sings over ascending major chords. "Color And The Kids" follows and for over 6 minutes, Chan delivers her most touching performance over a sparse reflective piano melody. "When we were teenagers, we wanted to be the sky, now all we wanna do is go to red places and try to stay outta hell," she utters, painting a vivid picture of reminiscence and euphoria, without sinking into depression. And completing the greatest stretch of the album is haunting single, "Cross Bones Style" which, from Chan's seductive moans to the chugging rhythm, is arguably the most dauntless thing she's ever recorded.

With Moon Pix, Chan Marshall discredits the stereotype that you need complete confidence and activist tendencies to be an ideal female model, by portraying the courage that can be found in weariness. And while it makes for a long winded and depressing album which ultimately may fall short of perfection ("Moonshiner" and "Peking Saint" are pretty dull), it's still an enormous step forward. After all, part of the show when you go to see her live is witnessing her anxiety in all it’s starkness. It makes those moments when she does express a glimmer of hope and confidence so much more revelatory.

Mercury Rev - The Dark Is Rising (2001)

2007-01-26T21:02:00.000-08:00

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Gosh, look at that album cover - can you say overkill much? And check out the tracklisting - "The Dark Is Rising". What a bunch of dorks! There’s a song called "Hercules"! I can just picture Norwegian Viking Metal fans getting excited about the pretense of Roman gods conducting epic battles. But mentioning the whimsy of Mercury Rev in the same sentence of Death Metal is silly. This album obviously conjures up the images of witches and encantation more than it does of battles and testosterone. Speaking of genetic makeup, did they take estrogen shots in the making of this album? I’ve never heard so much delicate tender lyricism set to equally romantic atmosphere for a while. The closest modern approximation I can think of is HIM. Wow, Aron, you just mentioned HIM and Norwegian Viking Metal in one review. If the reader hasn’t walked away yet, they’re a real trooper. And you gentle reader, will be awarded for your perseverance if you get this album, because the music itself isn’t nearly as silly as any of the imagery conjured by the album’s inclinations (especially those goofy looking “pensive” band pics in the liner notes). Don't get me wrong, there’s definitely bombast in small doses. Listen to the opening of "The Dark Is Rising" to get an idea of the bravado employed occasionally. The symphonic self-indulgence swells like a Star Wars soundtrack. But it’s kinda deceiving because, in the same track after the initial boom, a lovely piano ballad follows - one that’s subtle and intelligent as well as emotional... uh oh, here comes the swell again...

Despite such a mixed opening track, the album grows to harbor genuine gold in the dream pop field. Yes, the swirling synth lines, sprightly bass and absolutely huge sounding piano chords in "Nite And Fog" may as well be playing on your parent’s lite-rock AM radio station, but the spectacular hooks make it hard to dislike. The gentle melancholia of "Tides of The Moon" drifts loosely along, expanding into a nice reverb drenched drift. "Lincoln’s Eyes" is an eerie lullaby that explodes into an unhinged swirling jam session before settling back into the prior unsettling atmosphere. "Little Rhymes" comes in like a gentle train whistle and grows into a steady, bass-driven anthem creating the feel of skating on the rings of Saturn. The splendid "Hercules" builds upon the initial two chord acoustic progression in all sorts of exhilarating ways before exhausting every possible outgrowth and ending the album with a bang.

Majesty is a sorely under-appreciated emotion in music these days. Thank god for bands like this bringing it back unashamedly. Sometimes Mercury Rev slips and lays down a clunker or two, becoming the perfect example of style over substance. Nowhere is this more notable than in Donahue’s lyrics which beats the dog dead with their portrayal of women through proverbs ranging from decent to embarrassing. But for the most part, they wisely sidestep that weakness and gives us a worthy follow up to Deserter's Songs.