Dumb

This is quite possibly the worst review I have ever read. How phoned in is that? It's my thought that music reviews should in some way touch on what it sounds like, but that's just me...

Let's Dance About Art 2005 -- Part I

Everyone says the same thing, so will I: To somewhat repeat myself from last year, lists are something of a bogus endeavor, I know. But – they are fun and a decent way to make sense of a year spent critiquing, obsessing, thinking and wondering about music. The following albums are not indicative of everything I listen to, but rather, a sampling that pulls from every different genre I enjoy. It’s nearly impossible to quantify and weigh art, so the following is mostly what I’ve enjoyed throughout the year, the albums I’ve listened to the most and the albums that I feel have a certain gravitas about them.

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.

Let's Dance About Art 2005 -- Part II

10. Dead Meadow – Feathers

Ever since Dead Meadow blew me against the back wall at one of their live shows, I’ve been a believer. Their records have gotten close to their accomplished live show, but never really showed the power they were capable of. Feathers, their fourth studio album, is just that remedy finally tapping the frequency they can tune into. This is some high-flying stuff, nipping from the trippiest Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd and Led Zep had to offer, but rather than pummel the listener into submission the tunes rise and fall gently like, yeah, feathers. They also continue their theme of rerecording their past works, but this time it works better than ever with their huge (and best work) “Sleepy Silver Door”. The one note verse drains my frontal lobe until the boogie gets the blood flow back at the chorus. Only be ready to be devastated every time the avalanche of guitar solos runs me down. Heavenly.

9. LCD Soundsystem – LCD Soundsystem

I recently heard “Daft Punk is Playing at My House” in my gym, a Bally’s Total Fitness. Hard to say what most of those meatstick guidos really think about Daft Punk or The Scene, but I saw more than one head nodding. See, that doesn’t really matter when you make music of this order. I expected this record to be pandering (ironic handclaps, cowbell and been-there-done that lyrics) to the critic crowd, but when music is this alive and forward thinking, you can’t help but eliminate past conceptions. Sure, everything probably been done here before, and will again, and maybe even better. And it’ll be awesome man, you should’ve been there.

Presently, this is some funky, badassss and hott music.

8. Akron/Family – Akron/Family

I’m not really sure what makes folk music “freaky”, but if there is a good example of it, I’m sure Akron/Family’s self-titled debut might fit the bill. Starting off with a simple plucked measure, nothing outrageous, the first-round knockout comes in when we hear words, strained and forced, trying to stay up, but undeniably pure and like nothing I heard all year, or ever. Now, just because music is new and innovative, it doesn’t immediately make it good, but when melodies this timeless accompany new and wildly interesting ways of putting them together, you might almost have yourself a masterpiece. Acoustic instruments accompany wily electronics, overdriven guitars come out of nowhere and scraps of weirdo found sounds sound more natural than their other accompaniments. This music isn’t freaky for its mixture of the traditional with the atypical, but for the capability of these mere men to create pristine vessels of sound.

7. Animal Collective - Feels

Yes the feeling (sic) is juvenile as ever, just as before, but a bit more psychopathic than I’d seen before. Songs are sung with abandon, loud in the sound, not enunciation, and more than ever the melodies are, gasp, understandable. It’s a less schitzo AC almost like they’re building these songs from the ground up rather than letting them grow and run their natural course. But so it goes, kids do become men.

6. Smog – A River Ain’t Too Much to Love

Rivers aren’t things that follow direct lines. They’re sneaky, winding, full of snakes, and wonderful on a hot summer day. They provide life, helping our trees grow, our farms grow. They can be deep, quick, rocky, placid.

I’d like to think that Bill Callahan, aka Smog, has simplified everything. The arrangements are basic – just acoustic guitar, bass and drums for most of the songs. I’d like to think that he’s just giving it to me straight for once. But as he says, “There is no love/In the one true path.”

I’ve never seen a river follow a straight line.

5. The Psychic Paramount – Gamelan Into the Mink Supernatural

Flip this disc in and start thinking yr in a time warp. Backwards everything, mixed way, way too hott, nothing making sense. Bass is locked in a groove, everything else pounds you like yr caught under a waterfall. But make it out alive…

From the start: “Megatherion” is like ginger to your ears, cleaning out the wax, dusting you off. Then, “Para5”. I mean SHIT. Starting off like a funky Yes, this junk steamrolls over your body, infecting your veins until yous just gots to have more. The song fades, becomes, like, part II or something, and just completely slays every guitar player ever to pick up an axe. Best solo of the year, hands down. So hott, in fact, that it breaks the tape into, uh, part III where the Chili Pepper guitar (In a good way, man) comes back and the bass is forced even louder, until, drop out. I’ve never been more disappointed by a song ending, my chest heaving, my body sore.

“Echoh Air” follows with bubble guitar, thudding bass and cymbal- and snare-heavy drums. It starts out at the bottom of the fret board, low but building, until it gets higher and higher and higher. The production’s still mixed so the needles are breaking off, making for a grainy, snuff film feel, but not half as drrty. Naw, this stuff’s a riot, not degenerate like most noise music.

Segue right into “X-Visitations”. At this point you start to realize that a word hasn’t been sung or spoken, but that’s ok. You get a chance to breathe before another onslaught, but, again, not the kind that noise would incapacitate you with. By then you start to realize, wait, I just listened to about 5 minutes of static. Isn’t that noise? At that point a godly, passionate and righteous guitar sweeps down from up top to deliver a sermon with accentuations from the chorus of bass and cymbals. It’s sad it’s only a fleeting moment, but afterwards we’re given a chance to reflect in the debris and dust following the proclamation.

And finally silence, only for a second, but feeling like a million years. Back to that bubbling guitar and bass for the title track, cymbals touched, things steadily rising, rising. Things are at a fever pitch, expert tension is built, but better yet, maintained. The tape captures this – can any physical entity sustain the pressure this force is generating? Can any set of ears or placement of microphones withstand the weight? Can the tape last in the wall of a hurricane? And it breaks.

4. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois

Nearly every review I’ve read of this album gestures toward the absolute grandiosity of this record and attempts to explain why it’s so big. Ironic then that it’s set within the confines of a state, something finite and in the case of Illinois, not that huge. Nearly every song here deals with the supernatural, notions bigger than most of us can hope to understand, and people bigger than life (ever seen the Lincoln monument?).

It’s a perfect encapsulation of ideas too big to be held in the boundaries of a jewel case, or one person’s head. But they’re ideas that need to be there, things that need to be remembered, reconsidered and thought about for future generations. But then again, they’re simple ideas at heart, really boiling down to a single question of goodness. But, thinking back, that idea is much too complex. And that’s what makes Illinois so good.

3. Kanye West – Late Registration

And so comes my first (and last) white-boy nomination for a hip-hop record. For me, it was a year where I finally started to understand hip-hop, even if I didn’t really listen to many albums. This one, something I didn’t really even want to get, was like a smack in the face. I thought it was hyped so much, and it was, but not because it good. It was great. It’s written like a book, every song a chapter in the ongoing saga of being a Black American. Not that I really know. No, honestly, I have zero idea.

The production is the first thing that hit me. The breath is compressed out of the beats on this thing, trimming the fat and moving everything forward. Samples are still used, and no matter how familiar I am with them (“Move On Up”? I’ve heard that like 50 times by itself.) they still sound brand new written in a push-things-forward context. And, to reconfirm my whiteness, Jon Brion’s coloring of the tracks is an impeccable choice, another checkmark for a man with the best style in entertainment.

Lest us forget Mr. West himself. Sure he’s loud, he’s proud, but this dude’s got breath control. He’s taken a large step from College Dropout as far as MCing goes. His strength is still in his control of recognizing the human condition, how we want to be untouchable but continually fall. Only this time he might be invulnerable. At least until next year.

2. My Morning Jacket - Z

Before I even begin to describe this, I must let you know that MMJ is one of my favorite bands. They were a band I’d never have enjoyed had I not spent 4 years of my life in North Carolina. Something about their calm, jammy rock and roll really fits perfect in between the peaks of the Western Carolina Appalachians, the I-85 and I-40’s. It’s easy music for a slow afternoon of drinking and sitting. I can still perfectly remember the first time I really listened them – driving up from Atlanta to Augusta, GA on a fall break from the uni, my now girlfriend of 3+ years asleep in the passengers seat as we drove into an immaculate fall sunset, “Bermuda Highway” playing softly out of the speakers. An idealistic idea I know, but really a moment that has stood still for me and romanticized the group’s music for me.

When I found out that My Morning Jacket were releasing Z, I was psyched. Having just finally put It Still Moves to rest after burning myself out on it, I was ready for their next move, something I knew was upward. The skill they showed on Moves is present here, but there’s an unprecedented explosiveness that I’ve never heard before.

The songs on Z are arena ready, meant to be played in front of millions of people. They’re short, but only because they’re going to be totally blown out live. This is also pop music, easy for anyone who likes the Dead, Allman Bros., or Skynyrd to enjoy. Every single song is great here perfects old-school rock for the hippy masses without losing the thread by being too improvisational (save “Into the Woods”, which is good, but should’ve been relegated to an EP like “Cobra”). They cover nearly every base, from the reggae-inflected, but-not-cheesy (“Wordless Chorus”, “Off the Record”) to midnight-boogie (“Anytime”) to Pink Floyd smoke-outs (“Dondante”).

And of course, there’s Mr. Jim James, the man with the golden voice. MMJ strip away the reverb that has been their trademark, and instead of soaking all the instruments in it, they just apply enough to James’ voice to make him sound, once again, divine. The man can’t hit a sour note and holds the single greatest instrument ever to appear on record. His tone can be echoed in the music they create – naturally beautiful yet angelic and dynamite hymns of praiseworthy rock n’ roll.

1. The New Pornographers – Twin Cinema

In all honesty, I never really cared for the New Pornographers, before this record. I never heard their first record, didn’t care for Electric Version, and really almost wrote them off. You hear a ton written about them, mostly every review listing how they’re a “Canadian Supergroup”. How can they be a supergroup if you’ve never heard any of them in their own right?

It’s certainly apparent on Twin Cinema. Every song is a tightly reigned-in package, a pop mini-masterpiece. And when I use “pop” here, I mean pop. It’s not that skewed spazzy stuff like Deerhoof or Unicorns that people are calling “pop” because they can’t think of anything else. No bro, this is the real deal. Pop like Rusted Root (end of “Bleeding Heart Show”?), pop like Kelly Clarkson, pop like Tom Petty, Joe Jackson, and anyone else on radio in the you can think of. Oh, uh, except for the Dan Bejar songs – sorry. Exceptions to everything.

I’ve never been a huge power-pop fan, but after hearing this, the Yellow Pills album on Numero and the Exploding Hearts, I’m fully sold. Each song seems to be composed with the idea of a crescendo in mind. That is, start with a small yet attractive idea, work in more and more details until the song becomes a huge sing-along blast. By the end, you’ll have people swinging back and forth, hands in the air, girls and boys making out, etc. Actuality: you’ll have me screaming along in my car on the NJ Turnpike, looking like a teenybopper.

The New Pornos do this power-pop thing the best. They’ve got the vixen (Neko Case), the genius (AC Newman) and the quality control dude (Dan Bejar) making sure everything is sufficiently twisted so we keep ‘em interested. Hooks are immediate, but not over-sweet – diabetics are welcome. They’re expounded upon until they reach their logical climax, either a third chorus conclusion or a coda of bittersweet ooh-ing and aah-ing that just makes my heart break all over again for music. It’s a beautiful moment, a fantasic voyage throughout and yet another perfection of the art form. Where else can you get this feeling? Where else can you find this joy, this uplifting moment? And when will it happen again? Because I can’t wait.

Coming Soon

After a long and arduous couple of weeks I have almost completed my list for the Best Records of 2005. It's taken me way to long, I know, but it could be worth your while. Having finished 23, I only have the top two left. I guess for next year I should start this crap around Thanksgiving. Sorry for the delay and please come back soon!

Suggested listening while you wait:

Khanate -- Capture & Release (not on the list, I was too late on this one)
The Game: "Hate It Or Love It"
Madonna: "Hung Up"
The Vaselines -- The Way Of The Vaselines
Todd Rundgren -- A Wizard, A True Star