Hypocrite Listener vs Daftpop Mix Showdown part II-I'm turning this into a summmit

First, since Anna made such a fantastic list with a far superior defense attached to it, I'll give it a track by track response. My unfocused rant will follow. So let's dive in...

Beyonce-Single Ladies
This song never really did it for me, but I'll admit to the power of this song. I actually like the verse's melody more than the chorus. I've seen people just lose their shit dancing to this, so I'll back down from criticism.

Big Boi and Gucci-Shine Blockas
I love this song so much. Oh man yes, yes yes.... It reminds me of the first time I heard Hey Yeah or Ghettomusick, like getting my mind kicked in. I just feel like Big Boi tries a little harder than most to deliver, like he doesn't phone it in. This year's Int'l Players Anthem.

Fabolous and The Dream-Throw It In The Bag
Not feeling this one. Seems like paint by numbers to me.

Ghostface-Do Over
Fantastic. Maybe it's unfair to give props to straight up samples over synth beats that sound like samples, but the production gives the song a life blood, a warm throbbing thing to ground it. Maybe I'm too much a product of the 90's. I will never fuck with Wu Tang anything.

Beyonce-Halo
I've never appreciated this song until now. Beyonce is a great performer, her timing and delivery are perfect here. This is something I don't think Rihanna (I'm sorry) could pull off. One qualm, the production is pretty schlocky. Like, they could have had some real strings here, it would done her voice justice. Maybe it would have broken the aesthetic of the album as a whole, but it would have elevated the song. And if the Dirty Projectors can afford real strings, than Ryan Tedder can put down his fucking synths for one second.

Pet Shop Boys-All Around The World
Ok, I like this song. There are a number of indie acts working within these tropes, but none I've heard do them justice like this. I don't like his voice but fuck it. Maybe I just got spoiled by Beyonce on the last track.

Basement Jaxx-Scars
This is sweet, great dubstep vibe. This got me out of my seat on first listen to dance around alone in my apartment. Ace pick.

Elektrik Red-Freaky Freaky
Not doin' it for me. When “My Love” came out it seemed revelatory, like the future of music. But those synth stabs now just take me right back to 2006.  Although this is a decent track, it's using some well worn tricks.

MSTRKRFT-Heartbreaker
This is close to cheating Anna, dude was in DFA1979. I do really like this track though. Some straight up dance material, but done exceedingly well. Love those oh's.

Kanye West-Knock You Down
This sounds like Kanye phoning it in. I feel like I've heard this song before.

Raekwon-Cold Outside
YES. Right here, I like that the bass is kinda low in the mix, and that sample is tinny and a bit harsh. It allows the tension to build up to a desperate fever pitch. And those chorus vocals are the best argument against the current trend of robo-pop singing I've heard this year (close second is DOA). This is so fucking good, nothing I picked even touches this Anna. Again, Wu Tang=probs gonna love it.

Lady Gaga-Bad Romance
This right here is Rococo. So, Lady Gaga is channeling some interesting source material, and she has an impressively wide range of vocal stylings. Her lyrics sway between cheesy and clever, and there's something liberating and weird and subversive about her. She is still suffering from some of that robo-future shock that's all over the radio right now. Granted, she was a progenitor of that sound. Still sounds expensive and hollow, so perfect for clubbing.

The Dream and Kanye West-Walking on The Moon
The Dream wins me over on this one. It's hard to say why exactly. Seems a little more restrained, more relaxed than the other tracks he's done.  This get's close that  80's late era Motown hit sound.

Cam'ron-My Job
Thank you for introducing me to this song. We need more mundane-shit songs like this. Did you ever listen to that Diamond District album? It's not as funny as this, but has the same M.O. I guess the lesson here for me is that I do love Hip Hop after all.

Clipse-Kinda a Big Deal
This has a good Madlib/Dilla style stutter beat to it. I actually like this better on the second listen. Still think the rhymes are a little flat here, some retread Kanye shit.

Basement Jaxx-Raindrops
Another winner. I don't listen to enough dance music. Don't have a single criticism, just love.

Oh my god Anna, you've written quite a response to my mix. I've missed a lot of these songs, which is admittedly pretty sad. So we'll wait until later to say which mix is better (if that's necessary or even possible) but you certainly have won in the war of words/blog posts. Your post actually had me excited to hear these songs, which is something that countless Slate articles and NY times pieces could not do. So I'll concede defeat as far as that goes. Beers are on me.
Also, I've realized something that has been staring me in the face for a while but didn't want to admit. I've turned my head away from top 40 music for so long, I don't even think of it as a choice. Like, I stopped listening or caring at around 13 (a nadir for radio if you remember) so now I'm actually just lost anytime I think about pop music actually being, you know "popular." I can't read the signposts anymore. Whereas the very popular but still secondary world of "indie" or just sorta-pop, or critically acclaimed pop (or whatever) is a territory I feel more comfortable in. And when things happen there, in that world of music obsessives and innovators/trendspotters, they matter to me more than what ever happens in the top strata of cultural exchange. I mean really, pop radio could fucking burn to the ground for all I care. And yeah, that's a pretty childish thing to say. I'm know not everyone feels that way, nor should they, but I guess I should own up as to where I'm at.
But, allow some last bitter defenses for the independent world:
   As much my auto-tune beef sounds geriatric, I still stand by my assessment that pop music suffers from a serious case of dumbed down production values. Now maybe the production contains some quality compositional merits or even stylistic innovation, but as far as sound design/engineering (sense of space, dynamics, harmonic richness, timbre), it sounds depressingly flat and similar. I think this is one of the overlooked aspects of say Dilla or FlyLo, that the music actually takes up physical space in a very different way. Some of that has to do with source material and composition, but a lot of it is production values, straight up.
   This is a complaint of someone who loves records as discreet art objects, who doesn't mind turning up the volume for a quiet section of a song, that will actually sit in front of a stereo and do nothing but listen to a record. So, yes, it's unfair to criticize pop music for being super compressed (within an inch of it's dynamic life) when that is a technical concern for radio play and ipod listening (shit needs to be loud to be heard on the train, in the club, or let's be honest, as your ringtone). BUT, I think it's plenty fair to say there's more than one way to skin a cat, and that record producers have been shy when it comes to fucking with anyone's expectations as far as what a top 40 record should sound like. If you've ever heard the early leaked versions of 808's and Heartbreaks, you'll see what I'm saying. The leaked version of “Robocop” is far superior. Sounds jumping out at you, the vocals even a little low in the mix, the over all effect actually less robotic sounding than the overcooked album version. And what about the independent world? Well, recording aesthetics abound, lofi, midfi, glowfi, expansive and spare (Grizzly Bear), expansive and dense (Animal Collective), intentionally shitty (Wavves), and many that will mix it all up (Bon Iver's haunting and genius use of autotune). This seems like a small bone to pick, except that this shit is literally in my head for hours a day, so I like timbral variety. This rant could go on forever, this is obviously a Nigel centric issue.
    Here's a more hasty defense: Independent music, as codified as it is, is actually more of a free for all. You'll have to allow in the definition of “independent music” to include bands and albums not on Pitchfork's Best New Music List, or even on p4k at large. Independent labels release more records by more bands. Maybe majors move more units, but the indie world has a larger roster. And it may seem like small stakes to some people, but there's a lot of squabbling and debate between the different camps of bands who often have to share the same stage on the same night. As much as Jay Z listening to Grizzly Bear is undeniably cool, it's also just the biggest name of one world giving props to one of the biggest names of another. There are weirder and wilder bands informing each other, playing the same festival, and sometimes those conversations can get interesting. Hipsters may look the same, but there are battles going between these kids (over some stupid shit at times. Ok, maybe most of the time). That is to say, no one totally dominates and it's hard to win everyone over (even for AC). Now, who's actually gonna take potshots at Jay Z?
But, I will admit there are some real virtuosos and innovators on your list. And, I do like a lot of it at first listen. In fact, overall, it's made me a bit more poptimistic.  So thanks for the mix.  I didn't expect this to turn into a summit (yes I did), but I'm glad to have done this.  Means a lot to me, Anna.

Stay critical or die,

Nigel

Snap Judgements

So I took a sick day and decided to vegetate around the house while the -10 windchill made everyone else miserable. To pass the time I decided to listen to some of the Pfork Best New Music picks I haven't yet heard and write some initial thoughts. The rule was one or two sentences a song. Here's what I found:

Real Estate-S/T
1. Like this a lot, not too overdone
2. A little plodding by second track
3. So the first track is uptempo for this band. Still like the tone and aesthetic, 'cept for the drums. This is somewhere between slow Pavement and early Shins.
4. But still pretty winning. Damn guys.
5. Oh, I get it, they don't have a drummer. I Like Springsteen's Atlantic City better.
6. Oooh. They do wrangle maximum emotion out of minimal technical skill. Not a slight.
7. Meh.
8. This has a cool blossoming Jim O'rourke style beginning. Yeah, this one's good. Little long though.
9. Ok guys, where's your jam switch? It's time to find it and turn it off. Also, this does not sound like a beach being rocked.
10. Like the song, still hate that drum sound though, and the voice is getting to me. Feel a little underwhelmed.

Alright, the album does have a cohesive sound, and is pretty well sequenced. And there is something romantic about coming back to your hometown and making an album with your old friends. Creating romance for a place you once thought was miserable, I can get behind that. But there's a way better album that does the same thing, and it's Spoon's Girls Can Tell. And as far as hazy pop albums, do we really need another one this year?

Bear in Heaven-Beast Rest Fourth Mouth
1. Bongos, why did it have to be bongos? Dude's voice has that thing that makes it sound thin with reverb, like the guy from Band of Horses or Getty Lee.
2. Pheonix + Isaac Brock's guitar. You didn't work for that chorus. Who mixed this?
3. This could be a lot better.
4. Wait, is this Rush?
5. Ok, so it's like Wire without the tension or restraint. Truly bored.
6. Favorite song so far, much simpler and economical. Ok, you earned that crescendo.
7. Bored.
8. Ok, so this album has an admittedly impressive sound. Good sound design that is, meticulous textures, and a dedication to being weird.
9. But even that awesome drum track is falling flat. Not enough room to breath.  Sounds like a dull headache, in space.
10. This album makes me itchy.

Ok, so amazing chops, very adventurous band. But man that sound is dense, too much future shock. Maybe exactly the opposite of Real Estate. I prefer Real Estate.

Skipping the Hyperdum comp cuz reviewing comps aint fun.  Ah yes...

Fuck Buttons-Tarot Sport
1. Sweet.
2. Sweet.
3. Awesome. Oh yeah.
4. Still really awesome.
5. These guys can do whatever they want with sound. My only complaint about Fuck Buttons is that normal life doesn't allow nearly enough proper contexts for their music. It takes a lot out of you.
6. Little too close to My Girls in the intro. My ears are a little fatigued.
7. The Fuck Buttons make me wish I was at a rave.

More dense than the first album, which I might actually like a bit more. More holy-shit moments on this one though. Listening casually while writing sentence length reviews is not how you should listen to this album.

Skipping Atlas Sound becuase I've already heard it and like it. Skipping Mountain Goats because I truly dislike them.  Oh what's this, a new Beck single?  Oh chillwave, this is gonna be quick...

Neon Indian-Psychic Chasms
1. Alright, cool intro
2. Ok, I'm on board.
3. Quirkier and more fun than the other so called "chillwave" or whatever, stuff like Memory Tapes or Washed Out.
4. Tape phasing, glad hipsters decided to save you.
5. Ah, this is the low budget Daft Punk part.
6. Thumbs up.  High fives all around.
7. This is a great long lost GBV song title, I'm sure. Oh yeah, nice. Good job dude.
8. An arpeggiater and drum machine on tape, some vocals.
9. RIYL: Listening to Chromeo without the icky feeling of actually listening to Chromeo
10. Still on your side man.
11. But will I buy your album?

A surprise. Very fun listen, not sure of the staying power. It does have a good sense of humor and fun while not diving headlong into novelty, it remains both warm and wry. I might actually buy this.

The Thing About Girls

Girls - Album

   First, you will inevitably have to get past the fact the haven't fucking heard of them, even though you think so (you're thinking of either Women or the Vivian Girls though). It's usually not the worst thing in the world to be blindsided by a new critical darling whose debut just dropped like a V2 rocket into your unsuspecting life. It happened with the Arcade Fire, it seems to happen so regularly these days. But there's something excruciating about it this time and you can't say why. Maybe it's that the big names act as if they've seen these guys coming for months now. Maybe they have, that is their job and all, but you can't help but feel cheated, that despite your best efforts, you're hopelessly out of touch and getting more out of touch each second.
   This will be compounded by the the second obstacle: no one you know likes this album, or really wants to give it a fair shot. In fact, in some cases they don't even want to listen to it. You'll go to the record store and hold a copy of it in your hand and ask the clerk in all earnestness (not something you do often), "Should I buy this?" And you'll watch him struggle to be equivocal while you can tell what he wants to say is no fucking way man. This will influence your initial reaction to hearing the first ten seconds of the first four songs on your laptop speakers as you declare this to be the lamest thing you've heard this year.
   Then comes obstacle number three: both Cokemachineglow and Pitchfork love the record. Each site alone is not to be trusted, Pitchfork for its breathless sense of importance, the Glow for breathless dedication to being contrary. Yet in the rare moments when they agree, they've been safe bets (Meriweather, Veckatimest, Embryonic). Intrigued, you watch their live video on Pitchfork (which was so obviously filmed months before their hit record dropped, is this some fucking conspiracy?) and despite yourself you think, these guys are pretty good.
   You watch their music videos (pre the XXX nonsense) and read the interviews, and although there's enough to roll your eyes at, there's not enough to outright hate about them either. You are inevitably charmed by this secret insomnia fueled obsession with the band you declared unwavering hatred for just 36 hours ago. You will torrent Album and listen to it on your way to work for a week straight. It takes all of those days until you finally drunkenly declare that you love Girls, you pound the table spilling your beer and point your finger right in the face of a close friend and shout "Goddamnit, I want to be zeitgeisty!"
   After this, you'll recoil in shame. You won't listen to Album for weeks. You will again feel cheated, feel that your love for this record was ill begotten and lame, more revealing of your own desperate desire to be relevant than your musical tastes. You come just as close to pounding another bar table at another bar and drunkenly declare yourself a sham, but decide against.
   But then, the song "Summertime" will come on random on a freak warm November day, and you'll be lovestruck again. But for whatever reason, you won't listen to the rest of the album.

   I've been meaning to write something on Girls for a long time now. And only now that enough html has been spilled on the subject do I finally feel like putting my two cents in. For what it's worth, Album contains some of the most likable and affecting songs this year. It also contains just as many charming but forgettable numbers. The record does sustain a mood of sunkissed (sunsoaked, sundrenched, sunbaked, sundried, take your goddamn pick) heartbreak, and yes, has a hazy, dare I say narcotic sound to it. But, about that, hm, ah, meh. Christopher Owen's talent for writing pop songs is strong but not nearly perfect. The band's strengths aren't in the woozy nightime songs, like "God Damned" and "Headache" or nor in the tongue-in-cheek brattiness of "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker". Girls is at their best when letting it all out, on "Lust for Life," "Laura," "Hellhole Ratrace," "Summertime," and "Morning Light."
   When they're on, it's a great listen. And the hit or miss quality of Album is endearing, although a little disheartening. Disheartening because I worry about Owens being pegged as some sort of fucked up rock and roll savant. Not many reviews ever say anything about technique or musical ability, just about this broken soul and his triumph over pain. And although that makes good copy, it ignores a glaring fact that these guys are actually really talented and (for the most part) tasteful musicians. Ignoring their chops would be a shame because Girls absolutely nail a wide range of styles, all without losing coherence as an album. And, I'll admit begrudgingly, that Owen's vocal talent is unmistakable, especially during a year of mostly forgettable new voices (Longstreth and Vile aside).
   It will be interesting to give this another spin next year and see how it holds up. It's unfortunate that instead of just being excited about these guys, I have to dole out my appreciation in measured amounts. But if it's good now, it will be good later, no?

No Respect: Evergreen

Evergreen - S/T

   It could be a stretch to say this album doesn't get any respect. Most people who've listened to it have been impressed, and it'd be a fruitless search to find a bad review of this album. Evergreen wasn't missing appreciation, but wide attention. Call it a case of right place, wrong time. Evergreen was formed in the fruitful Louisville scene of the 90's, a scene that produced both Slint and Will Oldham's many guises. But the album was released in the mid 90's by a small Chicago label during a time when arty post rock was reaching full steam. Also during a time when Chicago noise rock and Wicker Park as the new Seattle weren't punch lines. Although Evergreen played garage rock not too distant from the sound of grimy Chicago at the time (Shellac, Urge Overkill, Jesus Lizard, etc.) and featured Slint's Brit Walford on drums (while the music world was beginning to appreciate Spiderland) Evergreen didn't last past one album. I wasn't around at the time, so I can't begin to speak to how or why. But when I listen to this album in the context of the rest of the 90's midwest underground (a diverse scene and arguably an apex, at least in Chicago) this album doesn't sit well with its peers, even though it bears enough similarities.

   It's also worth mentioning that this album was recorded by James Murphy and Nicolas Vernhes at the Rare Book Room. James Murphy's career need no introduction after the early aughts and Nicholas Vernes has since produced masterpieces with the Silver Jews, Animal Collective, and Deerhunter and his studio is arguably one of the most revered in independent music.

   I mention Murphy because he's arguably why this album was re-released a couple of years ago. Either that or Slint's newfound cultural significance at the time. This is how I heard of Evergreen, through a promotional MP3 of "Plastic Bag," which I should mention, is not a particularly strong track. I knew nothing about this band at the time, just a weird song that creeped along with a bizarre Fall style chorus. It was hard to find more of their stuff on the illegal internet, but I eventually tracked down "New York City" and "Whip Cream Bottle" which were stronger and even stranger. I couldn't place what it was that had me hooked, but once I found out that Walford was the drummer, it was enough track down a physical copy.

   I want to say it was near summer when I finally got the CD. I'd also like think the first time I listened to it the whole way through was driving back to South Bend alone, but this seems implausible. I can say that it's perfect driving music, especially if your driving through a place that's not entirely beautiful. The music is dark, muscular, muddy, and inebriated, some of my favorite qualities in music by far. It's also a bit obtuse and diffused, which is a strange thing to say about a garage band. Some of this is thanks to Murphy and Vernhes production, which here owes a lot to Steve Albini, maybe turned down a little. Every sound lives in physical space, nothing is in the red or right in your face, a risky proposition for such a powerful band. It works, especially when turned up really loud and the band sounds like it's actually in your room, or your car is a small music venue.

   The band has some simple goals here, get drunk, get loud, get weird, rock out. By all accounts they succeed. In the process they also created an album that could be mistaken for the debut of a much greater band. Despite the fuck-all attitude and disinterest in saying anything coherent, Evergreen made a well paced album that has more than enough golden moments, the kind of moments that push a pretty good album into the realm of great albums. It's a stretch to call this a lost great album let alone a forgotten masterpiece. Yet, there are enough signs that this band took it's music seriously, and it's those moments that keep me coming back to this record. One of these moments falls right after the breakdown in "Klark Kent." After a pound your door down beginning, the band falls into tight mid-tempo stomp, guitars wobbling around like they're out of breath and then Sean McLoughlin slurs "We were suckled in the swamplands... Raised on revolution..." This moment of accidental brilliance is like dancing your ass off at a party then bullshitting with your friends until three in the morning, and right as the conversation is winding down, as everyone reaches the end of their raucous laughter, your buddy suddenly says something cryptic and strangely poignant. Half of your friends look at each other like WTF while you wonder drunkenly whether or not you just heard some strange confession or prophecy. It's not elegant or even very poetic, but within the context it's a beautiful moment, a moment where words and music push you back into your messy unconscious where everything is profound and strange.

   From the what-the-fuck-is-that cover art to the plodding synth lines of the instrumental "New York City" Evergreen is perfectly at home confounding any expectation, even to a fault. I suppose they wouldn't have any of this mystique had I been around Kentucky in 1995. But then again, maybe I would have been proud to have such a singular rock act hail from my hometown. Either way, I'm happy to let this album make me believe I'm there: drunk in someones basement deep in the hilly woods of suburban Louisville, listening to the best band no one's ever heard of.

See if it works for you here

An Open Letter:

Dear Yeasayer,

   I think I want to love you. Your sound is so globalized, post-history, whatever up-to-the-second virtue/expectation we modern folk would like to ascribe to young Americans making music. Your cultural appropriation is so well curated, and the sounds you assimilate are scattered so microscopically throughout your music, it's hard to nail you for actually robbing any one thing from any one place. You have a dense sound but also an airy sound. You're ultra modern yet organic and tribal. Your musical ability and tastes are airtight, and you're obviously a hard working unit.
   And I am sitting here, listening to your new single (apparently you at your most accessible) and I am on the verge of a yawn. It's the kind of quiet and muffled yawn I would let out when I listen to people pass the thirty minute mark in a discussion about Madmen. I'm a little ashamed of this desire to yawn, because I didn't actually want to express my boredom. I'm not trying to force my cynicism onto an adored cultural artifact that is much larger than myself or my opinions. But there it is, my body involuntarily trying to let the world know that as far as I'm concerned, it's nap time now.
   I should let you know, this disconnection between mind and body, my body's inability to submit to my own will is something I don't suffer very often. Throughout the years my body has taken the abuse of my superego like a champ, rarely complaining and usually warning me ahead of time when it's reaching a breaking point. I've also suffered some boring people and events in my life all while keeping a glossy eyed appearance of rapt interest. So this desire to yawn is taking me off guard. The only warning I had was the twitch in my eyes (so desperately wanting to roll, me not letting them) right before the little unsatisfied expulsion of air came rushing to my mouth, threatening to totally embarrass me and make the point all too clear, that this music is boring me on a very basic physical level.
   But why, when there are all these beats? They sure are beating alright, beating like some UN charter on the fundamental right of all humanity to hit objects (any object) rhythmically as an expression of self and culture. Your beats are the Esperanto of beats. And yet, there isn't a single moment where any of these rhythms even comes close to compelling any part of my body to move, except for said eyes, mouth and lungs.
   Ah, but listen guys, don't worry, I hear the echoes of genius! There's David Byrne, Brian Eno, IDM, XTC, Afropop, Sampledelia, um, Whitney Houston.

   And hey, this song's got hooks too. Well, I'd say that it has something that reminds me of a hook. Melodic, familiar, delivered with passion, it repeats itself. Sure, gotta be a hook. Forget that it doesn't hook anything, least of all my sustained interest, attention, surprise, or desire to enjoy a piece of music. But all the parts are there, so this must be catchy and accessible. It's got a saxophone and R&B style falsettos. Wasn't I drooling over the Dirty Projectors for similar reasons? Why do I find this boring? Yeasayer, why aren't you delivering when you did everything right? What's wrong with me?
   As I listen to this track for the fifth time straight, trying to free my mind and by extension my ass, I realize I'm totally incapable of being a music critic. I cannot for the life of me find your misstep. I can't articulate why this song is flying right through my skull without stirring so much as a grin. Time for me to pack it in and accept myself as a total fraud, a philistine with a hard heart and a half baked intellect. Good job Yeasayer, I cannot muster any real ire towards you and I wish you well. Don't worry, the New York Times is gonna love it! But if you could excuse me just a second...

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWN

Some poeple can't get No Respect: One Time Bells

Introducing the No Respect series, a new project dedicated to praising the unappreciated or overlooked. Well see how long this lasts, but I hope this will pull me away from the pointless ranting (raving) that I've become fond of. Today, I start with early aughts post punk revival also-rans and current d-listers, the French Kick's first album, One Time Bells.

French Kicks - One Time Bells

   First, a little history (skip down a couple paragraphs for the real review if this bores you to tears). I found out about this album while searching amazon.com for similar artists to the Strokes while in Newspaper class. Just sorta killing time while I pissed away the first two class periods of the day. On Amazon there was an ad banner for "Hot New York bands" which advertised both the Walkmen's debut album and this little forgotten gem. Interesting that the ad was not much more than the above words and pictures of said albums. Also interesting that this was all it took to convince me that I desperately needed both albums immediately, a distant time of nievete for both the internet and myself. Also, who knew the tiny Startime label had such a marketing budget? The hunt had begun. I listened closely to 30 second clips of all the songs and thought, oh boy, this is like the Strokes but a bit more distant and cold, more rough around the edges, more believably a real underground band. I had to have it.
   A few weeks later I was in Chicago for a youth group midwinter formal. Like prom for frustrated christian kids set in Chicago featuring shopping at Watertower, a night at the Holiday Inn, dinner at fuck if I can remember, and classical music brought to you by the Moody Bible Institute's symphony orchestra. Honestly not the worst evening I've ever spent in Chicago. I snuck off to the poolroom that night to stare at the skyline and dream of urban fantasies. The next day while shopping, I made my way to Borders on Michigan determined to buy this album to soundtrack said fantasies. I asked the clerk for the album and she said she'd hadn't heard of it (YES!! I WIN!) but was able to track it down. $14 dollars later I cradled the digipak in my hands and basked in the glow of a perfect find. I was at this point, surely the coolest kid in my youth group, and not too secretly breaking away from the pack.
   I didn't get to listen to the album until I got home due to a draconian no headphones rule in the church van. At this point, I think I was about to kill someone as I watched the skyline disappear as we made our way back to the permagrey of northwestern Indiana.
   When I finally got home, CD on deck, headphones in and pushed play, I can't say I was blown to pieces. But my ears were perked. Something about the angular warbly guitars, the never totally on key singing, and the incredibly dry production almost put me off. But the songs were good, and most had one or two oh-shit moments. It wasn't much like anything else I'd heard. Eventually those quirks would be what made this album so unlike some of my other favorites at that time. I can tell now that the rough aesthetic is a choice, but it isn't put overtop the music, it worked within the dynamics of the songs. It gives the album a hungry almost amateur quality. The use of space in the production is disjointed and boxy, some sounds sounding stuffed in a corner, some right in your face, usually in the reverse order you expect. It all could just be amateur recording techniques, but it works very well for the album.
   And the songs. Again, they're not gonna change your life (although, at a certain age, they could), but they are solid and original. Built from a little hardcore, some garage rock, some modish power pop, and a little falsetto, the tracks sounded familiar enough to be uncanny, and they just barely seem to work. Honestly, there are moments that grate (the falsetto on Close to Modern) that risk making the rest of the work feel tenuous. But the Kicks keep it up and deliver assuredly. So much so that they pull off some tricks that in the hands of a lesser band would sound like total shit. The vocals for instance are lazy and a little sardonic, the tender spots almost bordering on parody. Add the fact that none of their voices are instantly memorable, I start to wonder how they even pulled this off. And yet, there's something unassuming about the album that stands in stark relief to everything that came out of New York at this time (since for that matter). Funny that the understated quality is what I find so comforting and lasting about this album, when it's not really what I was looking for at the time, and that this trait has arguably been a hindrance for the band. Much like the Walkmen, the songs make me pine for a time that never existed.* That really is an interesting emotion and rare quality, one that has to be hard to pull off.
   Unfortunately, the Kicks' career has been short of illustrious. Every once in a (great) while I'll read an apologetic review of a new French Kicks release, the long and short of which are always "these guys are alright, I feel bad for them though." As much as I love their debut, their proceeding albums have tended toward slick pop and are (from what I've heard) kinda boring. Which is something you could say about One Time Bells, but you'd be missing on the perfect pop gems like "When you heard you" or "1985" and a propulsive if obtuse line up of songs that have amazingly only gotten better with age.

*This I have to credit to Andy X

Reasons why I love Kurt Vile

Let's start with some lyrics:

"I've got a hunchback, big as a humpback whale"

   Bedroom pop that is humble and scuzzy yet expansive, panoramic. Like Robert Pollard, Vile takes ordinary images and explodes them into epic, fantastical proportions. It's simple and a little whimsical, but not the fey whimsy endemic to thin-wristed singer songwriters. It's psychedelic without constantly referring back to the Nuggets fakebook. And yeah, you could compare it to Tom Petty or Springsteen, except minus the Dylan worship or overreaching grandeur. As silly as the above lyric is, it's not just a toss off. It reflects the lumbering and menacing tone of the song, while also being a handy metaphor for being ostracized. Looking at the covers of the Hunchback EP, Constant Hitmaker, or excellent new album Childish Prodigy, you get the sense of booth cool detachment and a hint of loneliness. But not the loneliness of a twee popper always pining away for his femme fetale. More of a precocious loner who always looks cool and a little menacing at your parties, but is actually quite funny with a couple of beers in him.

"I've got a trumpet, I know where to dump it"

   Vile knows when to stick with a nonsensical lyric when it fits so perfectly with the rhythm of the song. He's having fun for sure, and wants you to laugh a little bit. Not unlike Malkmus with his nonsequitors, it adds levity and charm to what is ostensibly, another song about being alone. You think it's all head in the clouds until later in the song he sings:

"There was a kid in the trees among the birds and the bees

 between beehives and bird's nests and I think you know the rest

he wanted to be free with them, but they weren't believing

pecking and stinging him till he wasn't breathing."

  Which is just one of many sly turns and unexpected surprises of his records. I could go on, but I don't want to spoil them. Suffice to say I haven't heard a voice or songwriting style like Vile's in a while. And in the context of the lo-fi resurgence (or what-have-you) he stands apart from the crowd.

   And what about the music? Well, at times he's a slow burner. He's not afraid to kick out a long scuzzy jamout, but he's usually more comfortable singing over bluesy acoustic guitar, accompanied by tape hiss and whatever is lying around. The music takes it's time, laying down a perfect backdrop for Vile to get into his groove. Because of this, his voice and music always sound perfectly in sync.

New Music in Brief

Between a new job and being in a band that is coalescing into more of a reality than a fantasy, I haven't had as much time to listen to new music. Summer is also a culprit. Albums are a good way to keep my sanity during the dark and cold seasons, but during the summer a nice bike ride or a walk is all I need to escape whatever stresses come my way. Also, my mp3 player is busted. Yet, some things have popped up on my radar worth mentioning.

The Diamond District-In The Ruff

I've been listening to this since the first couple days of spring warmth, and I can't say enough about how this is a perfect summer afternoon album. I'm at a loss as to how to push this album on my friends. Usually I can point to several awesome 'oh shit' moments on an album to lure someone in. This album doesn't run high on those moments, which is no slight. The charm and strength is in its sustained level of quality, and it's warm lived-in yet confident production. Neither the beats nor the rhymes ever steal the show, but work together letting it all go down easy. And yet, during that time these guys paint a refreshingly honest and clear eyed view of American life in the Obama era, despite the occasional dated Bush reference. And the beats are so good. Just straight up flawless musicianship. Like that organ part on “I Mean Business” that could have been hackneyed, chopped up, or overdone. Instead, it hangs there haunting, Oddisee having the foresight to let it ride through a long progression, allowing it to play perfectly with that little rhodes part when it comes in. And when it fades into “Get In Line,” it's like, yess. That's what this album trades in, those yess moments that make it look so easy. The title track is just one long yess moment, especially when it hits it's stumbling outro. Put this on when you're doing dishes or something, watch your quality of life improve.

Five O'clock Shadow Boxers-The Slow Twilight

A dark, brooding album not afraid to sample Radiohead or Velvet Underground for maximum effect. I have to say, I was surprised how well they used such recognizable source material. Sometimes when people have the balls (gall) to sample something like Venus In Furs, it feels like a celebrity cameo. Charming and sometimes exciting, but ultimately a distraction. The grimy production pulls these samples into its own sense of paranoia and violence, not unlike the way Scorcesse can get away with using Rolling Stones hits (well, before that was a punchline). Zilla himself is so so as an MC. I mean, he's not lacking in ambition or tenacity, but he's not engaging enough to live up to his dramatic backdrop. It's like you're expecting Travis Bickle to come out with his gun in hand, and instead you get some guy talking about being a weird kid in high school, his grandma's tuna sandwiches, and how he took enough martial arts that he doesn't need a gun to fuck you up.


Sunset Rubdown-Dragonslayer

Spencer Krug has taken some cues from Dan Bejar and has learned how to wield his maniacal yelping into self referential epics. Not that his previous work was anything less than epic, but Dragonslayer is less aural onslaught and more lyrical, and fuck it, way more musical than Random Spirit Lover. Whereas RSL was so much catharsis and exclamation points, Dragonslayer is more nimble, more dynamic, and more rewarding for it. Sure, RSL is some document of impenetrable genius. But Dragonslayer makes good on some promises made by Krug's earlier work. It's occasionally just downright beautiful. Like the refrain “Anna Anna Anna oh, why'd you change your name?”

A Review of Reviews of Bitte Orca, and Kind of A Review Too.

By now the merits of Bitte Orca have been expounded at length: Dave Longstreth is really brilliant, and this album is so sweet.
Of course it’s shortcomings are also flushed out and rationally articulated: That guy’s voice sucks.
I would like to first point out that neither of these opinions have anything to do with my own opinion on the Dirty Projectors, but rather what I have culled from reading the Pitchfork review, the Stereogum review, and the comments after the Stereogum article titled “Wait is Bitte Orca the Best Album of 2009?” (My personal response was “Wait, Is that The Worst Headline of 2009?”)
Then I would like to note that the praise of this album as previously stated still begs the question of why he is brilliant. The answer seems to be that he makes concept albums. No, no, not like Tommy, like, art-rock concept records. Dude’s got one about Don Henely. Wild right? Like how I just said “Dude”? Not an article to be seen. Street.
The detractors actually engage the music a little more, but kind of also miss the mark. Dave Longstreth has a really good voice by indie rock standards, he just seems either incapable, or more likely just uninterested in writing an actual melody (In my worse moments I think, Christ does he even plan? Has he ever sang a song the same way twice?). But his voice is fine, the best description is that he’s not Bjork, and someone needs to remind him. His guitar lines are also given to this proclivity. He’s a completely atonal shredder. Is this any more or less impressive than someone who creates more linear lines? For the moment let’s allow it.
Here’s where the real divide comes: if it’s art rock, all sins of atonality are forgiven. If it’s held to any other standard, Dave Longstreth probably needs fewer people to say that he’s brilliant, because what he actually is is unfocused. And yeah, the unfocused occasionally produce a DaVinci, but more often they give us golden retrievers. Here is where I propose that all music is art, and to call something “Art rock” tells us nothing about a music other than “You’re not going to like it the first [couple] times you hear it,” and this album is praised as being the DP’s most immediately likeable album, so you know, the statement’s kind of vacuous. As long as you accept that good music takes attention, and music should give back what you put in, the title “Art rock” should be written off as an insult, saying that the album in question is deficient in the category of “First Impressions.” It’s a shallow category, one that has more to do with someone’s mood, and even more to do with what they’re used to.
Music criticism most often seems to follow the formula of “back story, then comparison,” (except in the golden age of Pitchfork when it was more like “Personal anecdote + virtuosic string of contemptuous statements”), and to a degree I’ve gotten used to that, and can interpret fairly well what’s going on from this formula. But the reviews of the Dirty Projector’s new album were especially deficient. Can I for a moment try my own hand at reviewing?

Good effort, but the lack of [a linear] melody, in both the vocals and guitar lines amount to even the cathartic moments still being kind of tense. I think ideas here drag on a little too long, and that the instrumentation is only surprising in how little it surprises. So if you want a fun record, it’s occasionally kind of fun, and if you want to challenge your assumptions of rock music, this is about on par with the Red Eye’s crossword.

I'm rooting for them though. B minus. I know you can do better.

Royksopp - Junior

Bourgeois comfort from Norway. Coming from a particularly abyssmal second album "the (mis)understanding" (which was so saturated with the sweatstains of Ibiza it could barely warrent a second listen) Royksopp come up with an entirely different strategy: to make music for those of us who never stopped listening to early Air albums and think the Avalanches are still cool. And you know what? It works like a charm. Good electronic music that is not meant to be danced to has been few and far between. Sure theres been a few since the turn of the millenium who fulfill a similar role, such as Ratatat or J Dilla, but its just not same. Sure this kind of music could easily be heard in car commercials or pretentious chic restaurants, but just because the ad agencies and boutique entrepeneurs of this world are poaching this music left and right doesn't mean that these modest sweedish lads are actually angling for it (the way moby does, although he'd be the first to deny it). And even if they were, the temporary thrill of putting on some imaginary white leather ankle boots and being a european fashionista for just 40 minutes at home is far better than actually being one. Well worth the price of momentary bourgeois comprimise.

Women (Bottom Lounge 3/17/09)

The hitherto mysterious group of Canadians who turned in one of my surprise favorite albums of last year dropped by last night to deliver a show that ranks as one of the best I've seen in a long time. These guys ("four obvious douchebags") tore through their set, delivering their washed out blurry sound with well honed precision and intensity. I expected their carefully crafted aesthetic to suffer in a live setting, but it only benefited. This band is a tight unit. Despite their affable shyness and jokes about being unprofessional, they play like they've been touring their whole lives. "Black Rice" was light and airy, prompting members of the audience to sing along with their eyes closed. "Shaking Hand" was every bit the thrill ride it was on the record, and when the barnstorming breakdown hit, I heard a small chorus of 'wow' and 'yesss' and at least one 'don't stop.'

That breakdown is without a doubt one of the most undeniably awesome moments in music history. But what impresses me about it is not that the band pulled it off (and pulls it off live no sweat), it's that it's only one great moment in a record of many great moments. In their set, Women hit on Sonic Youth style dissonant noise fury, blissful MBV feedback crescendos, intricate rhythmic workouts ala Fugazi, and fragile C86 bedroom pop. And never once did it feel disjointed or scattered. And the new songs sound fucking sweet.

Chicago band Thin Hymns was another sweet surprise. I'm at a moment's loss for words to describe them. Really good? Does that work? Some soaring guitar sounds, some fucking incredible drumming, good harmonies. They played a refreshingly varied set, avoiding the common pitfall of opening acts: all your songs sound the same. Thin Hymns played at a level I did not expect, and they should have had a higher slot on the billing. I'll have to see them again.

15 albums

For no good reason other than that it's February, and I'll do anything to stay stimulated, here's 15 albums that affected me personally, changed my life, or otherwise will never be forgotten by me. In chronological order...

Unplugged in New York, Nirvana
My dad came over to my mom's house and flipped on MTV and waited until the video for Smells Like Teen Spirit came on. "I love these guys." He would have their albums on tape in constant rotation in his truck. I was sucked in. Only a couple years later, my dad would call me late at night and explain what had happened to Kurt Cobain. This was the first CD I ever owned, and with out a doubt, it is their best. It proved that they were more than just a Pixies rip-off who fell ass backwards into stardom. This is the way I remember Nirvana, and the way I remember Kurt.

Rubber Soul, The Beatles
This is an album of a good band coming into their own. The Beatles where already mega-stars that could have settled on doing Motown and Chuck Berry retreads. Here, they’re getting into Dylan, into English folk, and retooling their hit making capabilities to encompass better, smarter writing and more intricate melodies. But the album is also great for its simplicity, the kind of unbeatably succinct songs like “You Won’t See Me” or “In My Life.” It has a youthful energy that isn’t wild or sullen, but something breezy like later Beach Boys. This album will always remind me of Toronto in the summer.

Is This It, The Strokes
Early in high school, all I listened to was music from the 60's and (embarrassingly) jam bands. But I didn't fit into the neo-hippie culture of the Phish-heads. When I heard the Strokes, a light went on, and I knew I'd found my music. As much as we've all moved past them by now, I realize that the Strokes were the perfect band for a disillusioned young man. They could express the nebulous teen angst and aggression that define those years, but also be really fucking cool, and like way fucking cooler than anything else on my radar other than maybe Beck. But most importantly, they pointed me to much better bands—an alternate history of pop music. I still wish I could sing like Julian Casablancas.

The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground
Album #3, the quiet one. After hearing both of my parents casually dismiss the Strokes as a Velvet's retread, my mom pulled out a tape of this album to prove her point. "What Goes On" certainly showed me what they were talking about. But the album as a whole has so much more, and I think it gets no respect. Lou's voice sounds better here than anywhere else, and the songs are just perfect. This album also sealed the deal, and like the saying goes, I went out and joined a bad.

Slanted and Enchanted, Pavement
I own this album in two formats, yet it will never sound better than the first time I heard it blaring from Andrew Scanlan's ghetto blaster in the Mazda-that-will-never-die-323 on our way to buy a PA system for the band. Oh my god, Pavement. My life would be nothing like it is now without this record. I've never gone very long without listening to it, and I probably won’t, because there are so many memories attached to it. Andrew, Anna, Nell, Ben, sing with me now, “Ice baby, I shot your girlfriend…”

KID A/Amnesiac, Radiohead
The two are inseparable in my mind, and for a while, I actually thought Amnesiac was a better album. I can say very little about either of them that won’t be total babble. I’ve clocked maybe 11,000 hours or something listening to them. They are both better than Ok Computer, no fucking contest. Ok Computer was genius and groundbreaking and what not. But it wore its organic/synthetic beautiful/ugly pop music/art music seams in typical 90’s postmodern fashion, and sounds dated. Hear, the lines aren’t blurred, they’re completely gone. I even like the weird “KID A=first human clone” urban myth because it seems about right. But none of that matters. What matter is that every time I hear the horns come screeching in on National Anthem, I completely lose it.

Echoes, The Rapture
And to follow the greatest records of my life with the most easily forgotten…
Ok, so maybe it’s the Strokes part two in my life, my false introduction to a scene that maybe only existed for four months, maybe completely run by trust fund hipsters, maybe only in the minds of rock critics. Except that it freaks out in a way that is so subversive, so dirty, so sexy, so cool, and yet so stupid… I don’t know. It’s still the soundtrack for a perfect party in my book. It’s sad to realize that the real coked up quasi urbane kids aren’t even close to being this fun.

You Forgot it in People, Broken Social Scene
One of the most authentically romantic records you will ever hear. There are many elements to the band that can totally sidetrack them, like having a rotating lineup that incorporates dozens of musicians, a totally unchecked earnest delivery, heavy handed production, and the post rock breeding frequently leads them past the six minute mark. But when it works, it works extraordinarily well. I could fall in love with anyone within eyeshot when I listen to this.

Girls Can Tell, Spoon
One of the many breakup albums in both Spoon’s career, and in my lists of favorite albums. It’s a simple story about a guy who falls in love with a girl, moves to Chicago, leaves because he’s pursuing a rock career, gets dropped by a major label, and must now confront his failures while being surrounded memories of his youth. It’s also about men’s fashion. It’s also about two over educated, under stimulated kids from some shit hole town and the artistic/romantic obsessions they sometimes shared, sometimes fought endlessly over. It’s about their unkind imaginations. It’s about when you were 19 and still in school waiting on a light on the corner by Sound Exchange.

Daydream Nation, Sonic Youth
I thought about putting Murray Street or even Washing Machine because I thought almost everyone who likes Sonic Youth is going to name this as their favorite. But neither one is as life changing as Daydream Nation. It’s an album that deserves intellectual examination, while also defying it by sheer volume and aggression. If the album was just Teenage Riot on repeat for 45 minutes, it would still be their best.

Spiderland, Slint.
If you’ve really listened to this album the whole way through, and it didn’t in some way stick with you, if you weren’t in some small way compelled to listen to it again sometime soon—but not too soon--because it hasn’t sunk in yet, if you weren't compelled to patiently follow the insistent but subdued guitars to the very bitter but (triumphant? Fucking awesome?) end, then I don’t know what to say to you. For some people its David Lynch movies, for me, it’s this album.

This Night, Destroyer
His darkest, longest, most personal, most romantic album without a doubt. Not his best, but it’s got to be my favorite. Dan Bejar has a knack for pushing real emotion through even the most obtuse lyrics, but the ones here are actually pretty simple, and the imagery is pretty consistent. This album pulled me through a rough period of longing and self loathing. It feels like a breakup album, but one without all the bitterness, spite, and self pity. Sometimes it sounds like a love-letter, so I can’t really say what it’s supposed to be emoting. It is what it is, and it seems to be an artistic statement about that very emotion.

Early Works, Steve Reich
Steve Reich has the incredible ability to make music that is an all encompassing experience, a form of meditation that quiets your thoughts and opens your mind. And he does it without any trappings, without any tricks. His trick is transparent: set something in motion and let it play out to its end. Unlike Cage’s indeterminacy, Reich is purposeful. He’s not only concerned with the processes he puts into action (phasing, canons) but more importantly, the starting points. The nuanced chord he picks for Four Organs, the rhythms he chooses for his phase pieces, and the source of his tape works. This is what makes “Come Out” and “It’s Gonna Rain” more than just an experiment. Listen hard to the disintegration of the fiery sermon in “It’s Gonna Rain part II” and you understand that Reich has a deeply spiritual investment his work. Even though Reich has been an entry point for me into Art Music and experimental composers, I still think of him right alongside Brian Eno, Miles Davis, Sonic Youth, NEU!, Animal Collective, or J Dilla.

Cryptograms/Flourescent Grey, Deerhunter
I feel like I’m always defending this album, always explaining that the long ambient washes are just as important as the ‘songs.’ So many people will never be able to listen to this record without injecting their feelings about Bradford Cox into it. And as lauded and successful as the album and the band are, I still think this album is underrated. But the thing is, it’s a grower. If you don’t let it get under your skin, you’ll never really appreciate it. God knows where, there is a suncooked worn out tape of these records (the two come printed together as a double LP) that I listened to on repeat in a delivery van two summers ago. The hazy afternoons with the sun bleaching everything, a warm breeze coming and going, the skeletons of buildings hanging in the skyline, parking by the lakeshore just to take a break… this album was perfect.

Person Pitch, Panda Bear
I had been against the Animal Collective for a long time. I hated the ‘freak folk’ scene, I was starting to hate New York, and I hated that Animal Collective was being seen as the only ones actually pushing forward into new musical territory, I hated that this was the album of the year. And mostly, I hated good vibes. So the speed at which this album totally turned me around is amazing. The warmth and generosity, the familiarity, the timeless quality, all from an album made by some dude with a sampler. And the dude with the sampler, the guy who had music critics and other musicians frothing at the mouth with adoration, is actually a really nice guy. And the fact that I came way late to the Animal Collective party should be some sort of terrible shame on me forever in the world of music lovers. But no one gives a shit, including me, because this music trumps the fickle internet-bred sycophancy on which most bands live or die.

End of Year List

Atlas Sound Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel
Atlas Sound is Deerhunter ingénue Bradford Cox’s solo moniker he’s previously used for releasing vinyl-only tape collages on scattered small labels. (Yes, I bought all of them I could find). Here, Cox turns to tighter song structures and a clearer lyrical narrative. These songs are alternately delicate and fucked up, many times both at once. That is to say, perfect for winter. Cox also used my favorite recording program, Ableton Live (see below), which makes me believe we should be best friends in real life. Also, Cox is a really nice guy. I met him before his show at the Empty Bottle, and he offered me a copy of his album for free before his tour manager told him he shouldn’t.

No Age Nouns
I was casually interested in No Age until I saw them open for Liars. They blew me and everyone else away. I lost my shit and ended up doing several embarrassing fifteen year old things like pogo-ing, screaming “I love you” and “play it fucking loud,” and playing air-guitar, then Randall’s guitar as it was passed around the audience. In my defense, this is the only accurate response to a No Age show. I mean, I wonder what they said to each other after recording Brain Burner? Did they say, “Oh that was nice, let’s take a break,” or did they high five each other mid-air while jumping of Randall’s amp and screaming “FUCK YESSS!!!!” Totally rad album, totally rad guys (and I thank them for reintroducing rad to my lexicon). Also really nice guys. I got to see them after Pitchfork at somebody’s basement. Indescribable.

Jay Reatard Blood Visions, Singles 06-07, Singles 08
Like No Age’s dark counterpoint, Jay Reatard writes abrasive, tight, loud, poppy, and deceptively simple songs at a rate of about two per hour. He’s also known for punching wayward stage climbing fans with no remorse, and sticking a flower up his ass in an impromptu set with King khan. I shouldn’t like this guy. Maybe it’s because he’s of the few people who actually deserve comparisons to early Wire records. Maybe because he’s lead to my discovery of Kiwi-pop (also, below)? Or maybe because getting punched by this guy might actually feel as good as getting pummeled by his live set? Who knows? Who cares? "Puppet Man, lets go!”

King Khan and the Shrines The Supreme Genius of King Khan and the Shrines
A total surprise to me. I’d heard about King Khan, but was generally disinterested. I didn’t think I’d have time for some kind of garage-funk hybrid at this point in my life. His live show at P-fest won me over. I think it won everyone over, as he got us all to burn and rip up dollar bills (creating a ripple effect still being felt in the money markets, I’m sure) like cult members. King Khan is what’s been missing from independent—no, all pop music for along time. He’s a consummate performer, excellent band leader, bat-shit insane guru, and all around charmer. Also, Welfare Bread is a great anthem for the Great Depression part II.

Deerhunter Weird Era Cont.
I’m not just being a dick by listing the bonus CD from Microcastle, I just though Microcastle was underwhelming. A few great songs, some boring ones, a couple of medium ones, over. I can’t complain because Bradford Cox is a prolific man, and I’ve rarely been let down. Weird Era makes up for every weakpoint on Microcastle with amazing songs that should have been part of the album proper (its version of Calgary Scars should have been on the album). Best one is Vox Celeste, in which Deerhunter finally nails My Bloody Valentine, and does it one better.

Women Women
Recommended to me by the always reliable Liz and Lance from Permanent Records. This album is exactly what I wish I could make. A lo-fi album that is messy, tight, tuneful, abrasive, succinct and sprawling. It’s a remix of my favorite elements from No Age, and possibly better. I’m still diving headlong into this album, but unlike most of the albums listed, I’ve gotten everyone else in the apartment onboard. Listen to Shaking Hand and then buy the album.

The Chills, The Verlaines, Flying Nun Records
Apparently, early 1980’s New Zealand was the best place to find melodic pop bands. Flying Nun records documented what came to be known as the Dunedin Sound, a collection of talented bands hovering around Dunedin including The Chills, The Verlaines, and the Clean. I became briefly obsessed with the Chills after listening to Pink Frost. And the Verlaines wrote my new favorite pop chorus in Death and the Maiden. So good I played an unrehearsed and ill advised cover of the song just because I wanted to sing it.

Of Montreal Skeletal Lamping
Completely underrated. At first, this album seems less confessional than Hissing Fauna, and a lot of people are put off by Kevin Barnes’ black transvestite alter ego. It’s indulgent, but it’s also frequently brilliant. Very gutsy, and rewarding after repeated listening. An Eluardian Instance is a heartbreaking coded love letter to his wife, which is especially rewarding to fans who followed his story thus far.

Bertolt Brecht/Kurt Weil Threepenny Opera
I had the pleasure of working on the Hypocrites production of 3penny at the Steppenwolf. During which Joe and I finally got “really into” Kurt Weil and the nonstop hits in this show. Just perfect, and way more influential than I ever realized. Most Fav, Jealousy Duet.

New Pornographers Execution Day
“ON THIS DAAAAYYYY….”

Ableton Live, PSP Vintage Warmer, Abby Road 14213
Ableton Live is the best recording software ever made, primarily because it’s made to make music, not just record it. Once you learn the program, it stay’s out of your way and has a massive arsenal of easy to use plug-ins. But to really get it right, I needed PSP Vintage Warmer and Abby road 14213 plug-ins. These are modeled after famous solid state vintage gear, the second modeled specifically after the compressors found in the EMI desks at Abby Road and used on the later Beatles albums. Also, giving these plugins nicknames will make you feel less lonely after completely imploding into total geekdom. But seriously, these are golden and indispensable.

Music Ben Listens To
Despite my ravenous internet seeking, name dropping, and talking about that No Age show where I almost met Avey Tare, Ben will always find away to one up me. This year, he introduced me to some of the best psychedelia ever recorded, made me respect post Modern Lovers Jonathon Richmond, and left my Dylan love in the dust as he plunged into the near unlistenable Self Portrait with Ethan.

Music Ben has Recorded
Well actually, I recorded some of it and played bass on some of it, so…
Seriously though, there is going to be a songwriting arms race as our gear buying arms race has grinded to a halt. And Ben is winning so far.

Ethan Heil
For buying the sickest amp, for being the most rock and roll, for his smart ass opinions, and for putting up with me for two years in a row.

Ben and Ethan getting into Spoon
HA!

Jazz at the Skylark, Open Mic Nights at Bernice's tavern
Just two reasons why where I live is cooler than where you live.

The Liars+No Age=Ear Ringing Bliss

Wow. Some shows are jaw-dropping, eye-watering, ear bleeding good. This is one of those shows. First, Aleks and the Drummer was a total surprise, I'm glad to have bands this good in Chicago. I hope to see them again soon.
No Age ripped through their set and I was again blown away that just two people could put on such a great show. I had very high expectations for them, and they blew me away. From the first song, I just lost my shit like I was fifteen at my friends basement show.
And the Liars are the Liars, back injuries or not. They were almost as unstoppable as their performance at pitchfork fest two years ago. By far one of the best shows I've ever seen.

While waiting at the Metro I struck up a conversation with two new friends about the Chicago music scene, and the experience we've had at shows in the city. I'd been to the Metro at least a dozen times since moving here for school. It's a fantastic venue with a long impressive history and probably the best sound for a venue its size.
However, the staff is notoriously awful and even as a 21 year old, they never fail to make me feel like criminals. And at this show, a Tuesday night where everyone there had slushed through sleet and hail to get there, I don't think they were going to have a problem with any of us.

We all agreed that crowds there have a tendency to be stiff and inanimate. Admittedly, I've stood there with my arms crossed when I first moved to the city and thought that was the appropriate thing to do. But when a band like No Age plays an incredible set, there doesn't seem anything else to do but freak out and enjoy. C'mon kids, be hospitable. Show them Chicago isn't full of boring fucktards and aspiring hipster statues.

Also, Randy was showing some love for Corey Rusk and Touch and Go, and the crowd didn't seem to know what he was talking about. Which is pretty ridiculous considering this is CHICAGO and T&G isn't some obscure fetish label. It'd be like playing a show in Olympia and asking about Kill Rock Stars or Bikini Kill and getting blank stares. This happened when Broken Social Scene played the Metro and Kevin was talking about Tortoise and Shellac to no response. He replied "What, you people don't buy records?"

Well for those of us that do, thank you for the props. We're proud of our bands as well. +2 to Aleks and the Drummer for holding there own in an excellent bill.