As far as the numbering system goes, please hold loosely it – there’s no real order to everything. By the time I finished this I really wasn’t feeling the order. It’s really there to create suspense. Otherwise you’d be bored by the third review, wouldn’t you? Also, I really tried not to curse, but I love the word fuck. Sorry.
Without further ado, please enjoy my favorite records of 2005 and Happy New Year!
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25. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals – Cold Roses/Jacksonville City Nights
Rather than embrace or deny any meanderings about persona/image (yeah, he’s a tool, but what self-promoter isn’t?), look to the music. Cold Roses and Jacksonville are delivered in a straight face, nothing but good songs, written at a level that everyone can embrace and few will care to comprehend. We’ve seen this before, 3 or 4 recycled chords, driven by a bottle of whiskey and heartbreak – this is country, earthy hymns. On one hand, Adams wants to be in the Dead driving some country road jams. On the other, he’s a fine needlepoint musician. Doesn’t hurt that his backup band is knockout.
24. High On Fire – Blessed Black Wings
Much has and must be spoken about Steve Albini on the mixing table for this one, but I don’t understand his production (“engineering”?) and don’t care to talk about it and, fuck it, it doesn’t really matter when it comes to quality music. What we’re given here is our fave stoner Matt Pike injecting some crank and stirring up a hurricane. Guitars still chug, but this time like a stainless steel bullet train and you’re tied to the tracks. Skins are beat to shit in an attempt to add punctuation to these run-ons, but once Pike steps to the edge of the cliff to stand and deliver the Holy Solo you realize theres no place for that shit bro Fuckin metal man stop bein a pussy
23. Crooked Fingers – Dignity and Shame
Archers of Loaf were always one of my favorites, ever since I discovered “college rock” from the Poster Children back in 7th grade. I used to leaf through the liner notes of every album I got to discover new bands to impress my friends and, mostly, myself. Upon the demise of AOL I was supremely disappointed having just come of age and missed their live show. Shoot, they left such an impression that I practically went to NC for school because of word about the “Chapel Hill scene”. I never knew what happened to them after White Trash Heroes (half good) until I finally fell upon a website called PitchforkMedia and their review of Crooked Fingers’ first album.
Now, I haven’t really been one of the best supporters or biggest followers of Crooked Fingers, but I’ve got to say this is undeniably the best set of NC-indie in my recent memory. Everything is given that front-porchy feeling, but still, the songs are more pop than anything. Once “Islero” fades into “Weary Arms”, it’s obvious why. Eric Bachmann, owner of the herky-jerk scream and weirdo growl has found a wonderful voice. By “Call to Love” there’s no way you can ignore this feel-good college rock. It’s a sunny album that’s perfect for holding your girlfriend’s hand, smoking cigarettes with your friends, and dreaming of the possibilities of your wondrous life.
22. Paul McCartney – Chaos and Creation in the Garden
Back to production again, but this time I’ll know what I’m talking about. Nigel Godrich (Beck’s sensitive side) twiddled the knobs on this and forced Paul to play all the instruments, save some strings that he probably could’ve done a better job on anyways (dude’s a musical genius, fuck Stevie Wonder). Godrich compresses the air out of all the songs and all for the better. He eliminates every excess sound, every unnecessary fingersqueak and lets the songs appear unadorned eliminating any sense of environment or composition letting the songs exist as beautiful reminders of songwriting genius. As for the songs, we still have a couple of punchy numbers but mostly softly arranged, precisely sung and elaborately adorned Eleanor Rigby-type numbers. Seems to me that Paul is more vital then ever questioning his beliefs, questioning his place in the universe, and, yes, singing about love. Death’s unfortunate head is peeking around the corner – let’s hope the corny drummer dude in sunglasses goes first.
21. Pissed Jeans -- Shallow
Drugged, fucked up, and heavy as a ton of bricks. These Allentown, PA jesters seriously might have well as hit me in the face with a Louisville Slugger. Guitars are sludgy, strung with chicken wire and turned way to loud, bass that makes you shit, drums beaten like kids from the wrong side of town. Not to mention the mixed-way-too-low hollers about the stupidest stuff ever (sample songs: “Ashamed of My Cum”, “I Broke My Own Heart”). They reach their logical extreme two songs in (come to soon? Yeah.) on “Boring Girls” a one-chord sucker punch about wanting to nail the Maxim cover girl. Don’t discount these dudes as a bunch of gas huffing dopes – the boys can play. It’s just that they don’t care to play tight, especially not for you. If punk wasn’t dead, this would be it.
20. The Mountain Goats – The Sunset Tree
While John Darnielle, thee Mountain Goat, has never been a favorite of mine because of his nasal whine and run-of-the-mill guitar playing, this record was simply too devastating to ignore. It could also have been the obtuse lyrical angles he’s taken in the past, but this time around things are clarified. He’s taken on a subject that is always serious: abuse. Add to that the confusion and mayhem of childhood and Darnielle’s magnificent grasp of words and rhythm. His verses spill over about visions of meaningless details that grow to mythic proportions over time, his voice barely able to hold on to the chaos surrounding him. And sometimes he can’t, his whine becomes a yell, a yelp, a cry for help. But no mind, even though this youthful John is bursting at the seams, he has the maturity of a man twice his age, exclaiming his mantra early on: “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me.”
19. Vitalic – OK Cowboy
I don’t dance – I tell people I’m white. Full disclosure: I love that shit. So what would I want to boogie down to? Yo: 21st century disco cooked up with rave I was fond of in the ‘90s when shit looked limitless and I didn’t know any better. Music that makes you want to dress in silly glasses and dance in foam, uninhibited. French shit. Daft Punk shit. That “One More Time” song I used to do the robot to because that shit was way too much fun and I felt like a million dollars doing it. This – gritty electronic stuffs that makes you want to flip the lights on and off—real fast—cause that shit looks like a strobe, yo! It builds and builds and builds and never loosens the grip, aural blueballs. But good, release is in your immediate future. I can see the lasers, kids hugging speakers and the pacifiers now…
18. Doveman – The Acrobat
Coming in like a snowdrift, sweeping piano, banjo and brushed drums, The Acrobat is like a winter storm – everything is cool, muffled from the snow, but warmer than before the snow. Thomas Bartlett’s voice sounds like someone that a critic would tell me I should listen to more frequently and the band plays to his whisper-soft voice perfectly, crafting minimal accompaniment without coming off cold or aseptic. The whole thing comes off as an effortless affair, lighter than air and just as angelic.
17. Jamie Lidell – Multiply
Back to dance, this time the Motown indebted stuff that spun my head around a few years back. Like, I couldn’t believe someone would make as crazy a record as Talking Book with all the slow jams. And it hits like a Mack truck that you can’t get or don’t want to get outta the way of. Lidell can sing man, he diaphragms like the Hardest Working Man in Show Business, croons like Rev. Green, and, yeah he’s white. And English. It’s like this is on a tip from Dusty Springfield (she’s pre-Joss Stone, yo), but fast-forward to 2005 and insert JayTim’s dance hottness. The back end lags only for a minute, but seriously, with “Multiply”, “When I Come Around” and “A Little Bit More” back to back to back – moistness.
16. Stephen Malkmus – Face the Truth
Starting off all synth and geetar squiggles, I didn’t know what the hell I was getting myself into. Is this guy finally giving up and selling his guitars for keyboards like James Murphy said? Nah, just using everything he can to Q-Tip your ears and paint a day-glo song devoid of pose or categorization. Those that follow aren’t the same as opener “Pencil Rot”, but follow that genre-less tip into some pretty righteous, loose and fabulous guitar rock – and that’s just at face value. Listen to this stuff on headphones and its like looking up close at one of those pointilist paintings – far away its ordinary, close up there’s an attention to detail usually only found only in the confines of electronic music. So yeah, Steve’s not reinventing the wheel here, but wowing us as a guitar god ain’t so bad after all. (Note: hipsters will be afraid of this one because they might think they smell the stank of patchouli when they listen to it. The Grateful Dead were NOT bad or thoughtless at all.)
15. Deerhoof – The Runners Four
Eschewing the Who-like explosions on Reveille, The Runners Four is a record that just puts me in awe of these creators. These are musicians who know their way around a guitar neck or drum kit, thankfully unafraid to give one idea a rest to move onto the next. But, unlike so of their other records, this one’s more planned out, not as spontaneous as some of their other records, and it’s a good thing. Runners is probably going to be one of the Deerhoof records I’ll keep coming back to, it’s not going to give me a seizure from over-stimulation and the sugar is finally evenly distributed. No more cavities.
14. Black Mountain – Black Mountain
I first let the needle drop on this one on and heard the opening bars, then whole song, of “Modern Music”. I immediately thought I threw away $10. What the hell was this white-boy soul stuff? The dude can’t sing! Luckily, I kept rapt, mostly because of the possibly for a complete train-wreck. Couldn’t turn away, right? Luckily, “Don’t Run Our Hearts Around” spun things around totally, boogeying like Mountain with the drive of ZZ Top and the haze of Kyuss. From there, things never turned back, the songs got druggier and better, heavy, then soft, then a complete blowout in “Faulty Times” whereupon the needle lifts. Trite as it may be, I guess, don’t judge a book by its cover.
13. Wolf Parade – Apologies to the Queen Mary
Yeah, these guys sound like Modest Mouse. Yeah, they’re from Montreal. Yeah, they play jerky rock and roll with quivering vocals. Yeah, they have “Wolf” in their name (At least it’s not Clap Your Hands Because You Gave Me the Clap). Yeah, they use the high-hat a lot. Yeah, they have a guy who plays a synth. Yeah, it’s kind of dramatic and, uh, emo. Yeah, so, what’s wrong with these things anyways?
12. Jesu – Jesu
First time I ever heard My Bloody Valentine I was driving on I-85 in North Carolina coming up on the Virginia border. Not quite aware of how disorienting an album could be, in no less than 5 minutes I thought I was driving backwards and the cars next to me were stopped. Turned out I was stopped in a traffic jam and the left lane was just moving forward. I had to tear Loveless from the player, unsure of how I’d get back to Jersey practically hallucinating.
First time I heard Jesu, it wasn’t quite the same, but immediately my head got similarly fucked. From the downtuned opening thud of the guitars and the overloud drum pounding, opener “Your Path to Divinity” disengaged me from there. Guitars layered on top of guitars layered on top of bass and more bass churn like a black ocean while a crest of Justin Broadrick’s vocals and electronics ride the top like a life raft about to be sucked under at any time. From there things get murkier and dirtier, but from a guy who is a card-carrier for Napalm Death and Godflesh, sorta life-affirming. While the sea of bass, guitars and drums roil underneath constantly and powerful in their undertow can be deadly in their own right, nothing can outdo the menace of melancholy melody treading water and riding these waves to shore.
11. A-Frames – Black Forest
Unapologetically dark and mechanical from the outset, Seattle’s A-Frames destroy any notion for me that garage rock is dead. This skuzzy but precise mix of Man Or Astroman?’s surf rock and Liars’ theatric doom is the dirtiest shot in the arm Detroit Rock City has gotten in some time. Guitars are full of feedback, as is bass, but nary a missed note or stray whine is here. Rather than foul it up with that “loose = authentic” some of garage tries to pull off, these boys and girls are economical and powerful in their playing, making the notes sound like Chinese throwing stars. And it doesn’t hurt that even though they sound like man-machines, its kind of sexy.
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