As the weeks start to slowly blend together, with each day a slightly fuzzier echo of the last, I thought it was important to differentiate “this is a weekday where you stay at home and sit around with the dog on your lap” from “this is a weekEND where you do the exact same thing.” Since one of the minor differences between the two is stopping in here to recap the blur that just went by, here I am. (Honestly, part of me wishes there were badges or something we got for the various milestones we pass — “That’s five weeks of isolation — great job!” or “Congratulations, you put on pants today!” — sort of like AA chips, without the 12-step process and disease.)
Unsurprisingly, this week was very similar to the last — sitting on the porch crushing COVID with the Rizz, listening to a flurry of livestreams while banging away at the laptop. Aside from recurring highlights from the nightly Tweedy or weekly Waxahatchee/Morby shows, got to hear some decent one offs this week — Pete Yorn, Pedro the Lion, and a BUNCH of John Prine tributes, the two best ones of which were from NPR and Consequence of Sound. The former had five “tiny desk” style tributes (the best of which was Nathaniel Rateliff’s, second from the last), while the latter had over a dozen artists in their aptly named “Angel from Maywood” concert. (FWIW, Waxahatchee and Morby did a non-Prine “tiny desk” set from their house, which was also pretty great.)
Everyone from Kevin Morby and Conor Meloy from the Decemberists to Norah Jones and Grace Potter showed up to pay tribute. You can still catch most of the performances on Consequence’s Instagram page — just click the IGTV link and you’ll see the majority of em. They were all pretty good, but I thought the ones from The Lowest Pair, Sara and Sean Watkins, Whoa Dakota, and Sammy Brue were particularly good. (Sadly, the one from Head and the Heart is missing, which was one of the best.) And if that isn’t enough of the Singin’ Mailman you can also watch Prine’s 2018 Austin City Limits concert here, which was his first time on the show in 13-odd years. (Note — you can actually catch any episode from the past three years now by streaming for free on PBS’ site, along with select shows from the archives from folks like BB King and others!)
In the midst of all the tributes and tunes, I also got to do a little reading with some recent album anniversaries showing up in the feeds that are worth sharing. The first of those is the writeup of Toots and the Maytals’ 1975 debut from Pitchfork, which regularly goes back and reviews old albums to highlight classics from the past. The article does a good job giving the history of the band, highlighting how Toots’ country upbringing gave the band a unique sound and showing where they fit in with better known reggae legends like the ubiquitous Bob Marley. It’s a good read — I remember discovering Toots by accident when I was driving around the Irish countryside in a beat-up old bus 20 years ago. It was a week-long trip around the entire country and in addition to listening to regionally appropriate bands like U2 (which remains one of my favorite memories — it made the early albums resonate even more, like they were taking power from their home terrain) the driver kept putting on tapes for this throaty, raw sounding reggae band, which was as alien to those surroundings as a leprechaun in Kingston.
I remember immediately loving it, jarringly out of context or not. There was a cover of the old classic “Louie, Louie,” the John Denver song “Country Road,” and what I previously had thought was an original Sublime song (and one of my favorites, at that), “54-46 (Was My Number).” Similar to the U2, there was an urgency to his voice that was inescapable. I asked the driver who it was and he responded with his thick Irish accent, “TOOTSindaMAAAAAAAYtils.” “Toots in the metals? Two is in the middles? I don’t understand.” To which he exasperatedly ejected the tape and tossed it back to me and I finally understood. These guys remain my favorite reggae band — sure, I like everyone on the planet adore Marley and also enjoy rougher, angrier fare like Peter Tosh, but there’s something about Toots that just sets him apart. Maybe it’s how I found him on that magic trip around the emerald isle or that connection to Sublime, whose debut album we used to listen to on a daily basis back in college. Either way, he’s great and this album was the breakthrough — pop it on while you read the article, or listen to that beloved song of his time in prison, which Bradley and the boys later gave a punky remake.
Next up on the reading rainbow comes another album from the time of my Toots discovery, the Smashing Pumpkins’ MACHINA, which turned 20 this month. The Stereogum article does a good job setting this album into the band’s overall output, starting with a hilarious anecdote about frontman Billy Corgan being a characteristically self-important pissant and getting into a “fight” with Soundgarden that he moped about and made into a big deal the next day. The story highlights one of the ongoing difficulties with loving this band — Billy and his monomaniacal egotism (and now batshit crazy conspiracy theories). At their best the band is amazing — aside from Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie, which are unassailable classics, I also loved Adore and a bunch of their other stuff, including this one — at their worst they are a self-important, overly bombastic trainwreck, almost all of which starts and stops with Billy himself. (When we saw them a year or so ago on tour, Billy legitimately had a giant Catholic-style idol of himself carried through the crowd.)
Which brings us back to this album — not counting the companion piece MACHINA II that was released/leaked shortly thereafter, this is the last time the band I loved did anything worth listening to. It was the last time the two sides of their sound were (mostly) in balance — the thundering drums and roaring guitars, which were undeniable once they got going (Jimmy Chamberlin, alongside Dave Grohl, is one of the best drummers of his generation), counterbalanced by the shy, stark sweetness of Billy’s lyrics and melodies. Subsequent albums like Zeitgeist, Oceania, and the album/non-album Shiny and Oh So Bright seemed to believe that the reason legions of people loved the Pumpkins were because they RAWWWWKED SOOOOOO HARRRRRRRD (and/or thought Billy’s lyrics about fairies and other rambling bullshit in the “epic” ten-odd minute tracks were the draw). As a result, we got albums full of sludgy, overly loud songs with next to no heart. They were the equivalent of WWE wrestlers, puffed up meatheads beating you over the head with folding chairs (not as odd an analogy as you may think for Corgan).
On MACHINA, though, there was still relative harmony between those sides. Sure, the edges were starting to fray and in retrospect you could see the disappointing path that would lead to those subsequent albums, thanks to Corgan’s fundamental misunderstanding of what made his band great, but for the most part things held together one last time. This was one of two new albums I listened to on almost endless repeat when I was living abroad, aside from my compilations of older material (this being the early internet days I was still operating off a Discman with a small binder of mix CDs, since space was of a premium) and it, along with the Counting Crows’ This Desert Life, were my tether to home, helping me beat back the intermittent blues and pass the hours between class/work/travel. Both those albums immediately transport me to that remodeled janitor’s closet I was living in at the time — it was legitimately three arms’ lengths wide and as long as a twin bed (the building unsurprisingly ended up being condemned shortly after I moved out) — and both still hold up today. This one was always one of my favorites — give it a ride while you read:
Last up is another anniversary article from Stereogum, this one on the Hives’ Veni Vidi Vicious turning 20 this month. I didn’t discover these guys until I got home from that trip, as the Strokes and all the bands that came in their wake started exploding later that year. As Lizzy Goodman details in her fabulous Meet me in the Bathroom (which I wrote about here), they came in waves — first the Strokes, Interpol, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, LCD, and the Walkmen, then bands like the National, Grizzly Bear, Vampire Weekend, Kings of Leon, the Vines, and more.
The Hives broke as part of that second wave, but as the Stereogum article relays the album that would eventually catapult them into the limelight came out before all those first wave albums (including Is This It?)! It highlights some of the fickleness behind who makes it (and when) and who doesn’t, especially in the pre-internet age with its much more limited opportunities for exposure. I remember the first time I heard “Hate to Say I Told You So,” with its undeniable hook and limitless energy — by the time you get to the bass breakdown (a sighting more rare than that Jamaican Irishman) you were ready to Kool-aid through the walls of your dorm room. Thankfully these guys eventually cracked through and have mostly kept up the high level of quality they established on Veni. They also remain one of the best live bands around, so if you’re looking for a way to get pumped during the pandemic, check out this breathless, blistering set from 2004, which was so good they made it a DVD. Enjoy the Tussles in Brussels here:
We’ll pull ourselves off Memory Lane for a couple new additions I caught floating by this week — first comes the latest single from beloved Built to Spill’s upcoming album, a covers album of Daniel Johnston songs. (Creatively titled Built to Spill plays the songs of Daniel Johnston, due June 12.) It initially seemed an odd choice for a band known for its guitar heroics, but upon hearing their version of songs like “Life in Vain” and this one, “Mountaintop,” you see how seamlessly it fits with the bands sweeter, melodic side. Excited to hear the rest of the album — enjoy this little slice of heaven here while we wait:
Next comes the latest from indie Super Friends outing Muzz, which sports former Walkmen drummer Matt Barrick, along with Interpol frontman Paul Banks and indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman (he’s played with Bonny Light Horseman, the National, Craig Finn, etc). Since releasing their first single (the excellent “Bad Feeling”) the guys have announced a full album (Muzz, due June 5) and released another track from it. Similar to their previous release, this one finds the trio hanging back a bit, riding a languid vibe in lieu of some of their former outfits’ more raucous affairs. It works well — we’ll see how the rest of the album sounds soon. In the meantime enjoy “Red Western Sky” here:
Next comes the latest from Magnetic Fields, back for the second time this month with a new track from their latest concept album, Quickies. As noted two weeks ago, the album will have 28 songs, each less than three minutes long, and will be out May 15. This one is classic Mags, showcasing Stephin Merritt’s singular style — part showtunes, part satire — this one’s lyrics are at turns hilarious and sweet, just like the band at their best. Enjoy “I Want to Join a Biker Gang” here:
Up next comes the latest from Will Toledo’s Car Seat Headrest, whose upcoming album Making a Door Less Open comes out in a couple weeks (due May 1). The first two singles “Can’t Cool me Down” and “Martin” were both really good tunes, and the latest, “Hollywood” is no different. It’s a scathing ode to the titular town and it’s unclear who the guest vocalist is, but their rap-like cadence counters Toledo’s sleepy drawl well. Getting excited to hear the rest of the album — sounds like a hopeful rebound to 2016’s excellent Teens of Denial. We’ll see in a few short weeks — in the interim enjoy “Hollywood” here:
We’ll close with a couple tracks from Gorillaz, former Blur frontman Damon Albarn’s hit or miss cartoon collective, which he recently revived as part of his Song Machine project. As I wrote about before, he plans to release a series of “episodes” over the course of the year, with each episode detailing the fruits of a new collaboration. The last one with rapper slowthai was pretty good, as are the most recent ones — “Desole,” a breezy jaunt through the Caribbean with African vocalist Fatoumata Diawara, and “Aries,” a cool drive through 80s nostalgia with New Order bassist Peter Hook. Three for three has me more enthusiastic about what’s to come than Albarn’s recent work would normally have me. Let’s hope he keeps up the hot streak in the coming months!
On this week’s edition of Home School Hibernation we find our fabled author doing much the same as before — passing the days logging hard-earned miles on the hunkered down highway with his snoring, farting sidekick asleep on his lap, taking the occasional break to work from his now award-winning toaster oven standing desk instead of the porch or couch, while streaming one of the many daily concerts put out there by similarly shutdown artists. There’s been solid one-off mini-sets from Hamilton Leithauser and Waxahatchee this week, along with more recurring highlights like the nightly Tweedy Show (which is basically just the Wilco frontman hanging out in his living room while he and his sons crack jokes and sing songs — a space that’s every bit as calm and enjoyable to lounge in as that sounds) or the weekly Thursday night stream from Waxahatchee and Kevin Morby (which finds the couple doing duets, solo tunes, and a bunch of covers). It’s been a welcome reprieve from what’s otherwise been a really bad news week — aside from the usual corona-related news, which saw us somehow DOUBLE the global death tollin THREE DAYS (?!?!?) while also adding 600,000 confirmed cases in the same time span (stats that are as alarming as how little fanfare they generated in the news), we also lost three music legends — Kenny Rogers, Bill Withers, and John Prine.
Each of these men had a slew of iconic songs — songs almost everyone knows, whether you love them or not — Rogers had “Lady,” “We Got Tonight,” “Islands in the Stream,” and the titanic “The Gambler,” among others. Withers had “Just the Two of Us,” “Ain’t No Sunshine,” “Lovely Day,” and “Lean on Me,” just to get started. Prine is the lesser known of the three — at least to the general public — but he’s got both a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Grammys and membership in the Songwriters Hall of Fame for tunes like “Illegal Smile,” “Far From Me,” “Spanish Pipedream,” and “Sam Stone.” Perhaps that underdog, everyman status is why so many artists recorded tributes for Prine this week, instead of for Rogers and Withers — he belonged to them, whereas the latter two belonged to everyone.
Rolling Stone had a really good obituary/retrospective on him that’s worth a read — he used to be a mailman in the town my old man was born in, which is wild — but pop on these tributes while you do. There were three that were quite good, two coming from our aforementioned recurring delights. The first of those is Kevin Morby singing Prine’s classic “Angel From Montgomery” on last week’s stream (they reprised it as a duet this week after he passed), while the second is Tweedy singing “Please Don’t Bury Me” on his nightly show. The third is probably the most poignant — Dave Matthews singing “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness” on Colbert, which he gives a mournful, melancholic tone missing from the original. It’s quite lovely and all three give folks a reason to pay more attention to Prine — his solid storytelling and straightforward, sometimes funny lyrics almost glide by unnoticed with his simple, nonchalant delivery. May he, Rogers, and Withers all rest in peace.
Three other isolation-related items before leaving our living rooms — first, another highlight from last week’s Thursday night stream was Waxahatchee covering Emmylou Harris’ “Where Will I Be.” Crutchfield is an Alabama native and she tends to like doing country covers in her shows/streams, so this one’s right in her wheelhouse. She does it justice, with just a beautiful rendition of the song — give it a listen here (and tune in to them Thursdays — it’s pretty endearing to see such talented individuals interacting just as a couple hanging out, bantering while singing a bunch of great songs, so check em here at 9PM EST):
Next comes a somewhat surprising acoustic offering from PUP frontman Stefan Babcock and the new song “Waiting for Something to Happen.” He and his band of Canadian punks aren’t known for quieter fare (his amped up wail is one of their signatures), so this is an interesting departure. It’s even got a French horn, for chrissakes?! It’s a good tune, though — will be curious to see if he shows more of this side in the coming months. Give it a listen here:
Lastly we’ll close with another plug for the monster quarantunes playlist I wrote about a couple posts ago. Since that time I’ve added another 40 hours’ worth of songs, going waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay further down the rabbit hole than I initially expected, but once you get started it’s kind of a fun little game. (Besides, what the hell else do I have to do with my time?) It’s now over 100 hours and counting, so PLENTY of stuff in there for you to listen to. I’ve had it on all week while I work and only occasionally get a repeat, so think you should be fine for a good long while. It’s pretty fun, if I do say so myself — give it a shot if you haven’t already here.
We’ll delve out into the big, bad world now for a few new songs, carefully trying to avoid The Invisible Enemy… (cue scary music and reverb, but DON’T necessarily put on a mask when you go — I mean you can if you want to, but I’m not going to. Sincerely, POTUS.) First comes a song from Kills frontwoman Alison Mosshart who for the first time is having a go as a solo artist. It’s a slow burning song about recovering from a breakup — not too different sonically from her work with the Kills and Dead Weather — but works just as nicely as a little pandemic anthem. Listen to “Rise” here:
Next comes a little musical version of a home and home series (aw, remember when we had sports? Sniff…) between unexpected opponents — in this case indie band Rogue Wave and underground rap fave Aesop Rock. A few months ago the latter put out a song with the name of the former — it wasn’t about the band, just a coincidental use of the phrase — but it caught the band’s attention and they decided to respond in kind, releasing a song in Aesop’s name this week. It similarly is not about the rapper (best I can tell it’s sorta about the fables?), but it’s got a nice little guitar riff and melody. Give “Aesop Rock” a ride here:
For his part Aesop was busy this week, too, releasing a soundtrack for a video game he did for a friend. It’s mostly instrumentals, but a couple songs have him dropping verses, the best of which is this one, “Drums on the Wheel.” Also not sure what this one’s about (something about a pilot in space talking to Major Cigar?), but who the hell cares — it’s a video game. It’s got a good beat and Aesop’s signature flow, that’s all I need. See what you think here:
We’ll close with a little warmth, from the voice of Nathaniel and the heart of the Hunts, two frequent visitors to the list. For the former Rateliff released a pair of outtakes from his bigger band, the Night Sweats, this week, an instrumental along with this one, whose title earned it immediate entry to the aforementioned playlist. It’s a statelier affair than the band’s more high energy offerings, which is nice in this climate — I can’t afford to get too excited, that might invite The Invisible Enemy in (no one’s quite sure how he attacks…) — so pour yourself a tall glass of somethin’ tasty and enjoy this one:
Last comes the latest from the brothers and sisters in the Hunts, back with yet another unabashedly earnest song about love. These kids write such pretty, heartfelt songs with such knee-buckling harmonies, it’s really quite remarkable. They feel like such anomalies — both in the pre-pandemic music scene and the wider world — because of their lyrics, their optimism, and their pure prettiness. I’m constantly amazed they haven’t had that beaten out of them yet, but every song like this reminds me I’m very thankful they haven’t. Just close your eyes, pop this on, and picture what life would be like if it was this blissful and serene:
One of the unexpected upsides of the world shutting down has been the absolute avalanche of artists doing live-streamed shows and posting new material online. Aside from Death Cab’s Ben Gibbard, who recently wrapped his series of daily shows that we highlighted two weeks ago, it seems like everyone’s getting into the game as folks realize these stay-at-home orders are unlikely to end anytime soon. (And that folks are going to lose their goddamned minds without music or something positive to look forward to each day as this stretches on.) Just this week alone I caught performances from Jeff Tweedy (who’s doing super low-fi nightly “shows,” just hanging out with his family), two solid sets by Rick from Pile, a solo show by Dave Matthews, a mini-set from John Fogerty, and another hour from Gibbard (he’s since transitioned to weekly shows).
It’s not a perfect system — there were almost as many misses as technical glitches prevented me from catching shows by Hamilton Leithauser, Waxahatchee, and Kevin Morby, while several other shows popped up with such little notice they were over by the time I got the alert — but I feel like things will sort themselves out over time as folks figure out how to harness the technology. (At least posting the shows to YouTube so people can see them after the fact in case streams dropped or timezones prevented them from watching in the first place.) I’ve gotten into the rhythm of checking Songkick’s list of live streams each morning to see what’s on tap and then popping in to Bandsintown to see what they might’ve caught that Songkick missed. And then there’s all the stuff folks are posting on Instagram that’s the equivalent of throwing glitter out the window on a blustery day. (Honestly — fuck the ‘gram.)
Here are a couple highlights to get you started — first, there’s this performance from Wilco just before the globe closed down, shot in one of the prettier parts of our beloved city by the lake, the Chicago Athletic Association (home to Cindy’s lovely rooftop bar, one of many spots on my recommendation list). Great building, great band, great city (correction — the GREATEST city #GPOE!) — give it a listen here:
Then there was this performance by Tweedy and his sons from their bathtub for Kimmel, doing a lovely little version of “Evergreen” from last year’s solo album Warmer. Three things this video and Tweedy’s nightly shows remind you of — 1) his son Sammy looks just like him (it’s uncanny), 2) Tweedy’s complete lack of bombast or ego — as well as his subtle, sharp sense of humor — are really refreshing (he’s constantly in pajama pants and/or a robe, looking more like a disheveled asylum patient rather than a rock star), and 3) he really seems like someone you’d want to hang around with. (Or at least I do — him, Nick Offerman, Dave Grohl, and Josh Homme — two sets of respective friends. I could be the bridge between the two tandems — let’s make this happen, guys.) Enjoy this taste of what the nightly shows bring:
As I mentioned above, Waxahatchee has been doing several live streams lately, most of which have sadly not been posted online yet. Thankfully this snippet from one of her recent sets on SiriusXM (which is streaming free now thanks to the apocalypse) made its way to YouTube. She’s covering the recent Caroline Polachek song “So Hot You’re Hurting my Feelings” (which is an absolutely amazing title, BTW) and makes the song shine in a way the original never did for me. Give it a listen here:
Before we go there were a couple new releases to note, too — recent Australian fave Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever continue their hot streak, dropping the second single from their upcoming album, Sideways to New Italy (due out June 5). This one’s more of the same (not in a bad way) — triple guitar attack, solid melodies, and a brightness that’s much in demand these days. Looking forward to the new album — enjoy “She’s There” in the meantime:
Next comes a little ditty from hit or miss faves the Magnetic Fields whose songwriter and snarky soul Stephin Merritt subscribes to the Bob Pollard school of songwriting, releasing more than most can keep up with (and more than most would advise, arguing for the quality over quantity side of the ledger). Similar to Dr Bob, Merritt loves thematic, concept albums — the band’s last project was 50 Song Memoir with one song for/from each year of Merritt’s life, while they’ve previously done an album full of songs starting with the word “I” (the aptly named i) and the beloved 69 Love Songs, whose concept is in the title. And while the quality of these albums, as well as Merritt’s myriad side projects, varies as much as Pollard’s, both have written some absolute gems in the midst of the “meh” — more than most bands could dream of in their entire careers, in fact. (GBV, as my eight faithful readers know, are a constant, beloved presence here, and the Mags are a similarly loved quantity for their beautiful, heartwarming songs — I got married to one of em, after all.)
The latest concept is short songs — the new album will have 28 songs, each less than three minutes long. (Quickies is due out May 15.) We’ll see how it goes — the first single didn’t do it for me, but something about the sweetly sincere coda of “will we ever dance again?” resonated. Check out “Kraftwerk in a Blackout” here:
We’ll close with one more song whose content feels in line with our current state — former REM frontman Michael Stipe released an unfinished demo this week of work he’s doing with National guitarist Aaron Dessner. It’s a pretty song, as you’d expect for something with Dessner’s fingerprints, and the lyrics really hit home in light of recent days. The title tells the tale — “No Time for Love Like Now.” Amen. Give it a listen here:
Until next time — stay home, stay safe, amici… — BS
As the corona pandemic continues its slow burn across the planet and state after state here shuts down, I thought I’d jump in to help the inversely proportional number of inhabitants who seem to be grappling with a growing mix of anxiety, stress, and stir craziness (fueled nicely by a hearty helping of booze). Acknowledging first-hand how important both structure and variety are after only two weeks of locked down, work from home life (you can only binge watch so many shows before even your back fat and muffin top start to feel lazy, after all), I thought I’d offer a little bit of both with my quarantunes playlist.
A couple of rules behind what this is and is not — 1) it IS a giant mix of songs (over 60 hours’ worth!) that relate to the pandemic in some form or fashion (at least to my crazy brain). There’s songs about illness and how you might feel, songs about being stuck at home and slowly going nuts, even songs about drugs and other ways to pass the time. 2) Each of these connections to the pandemic and its myriad effects come ONLY from the song titles. While it was tempting to include lyrics referencing these things (“hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching yoooooooouuuuuuuuuu!” for example, from “Sweet Caroline” or “Abra-abra-cadabra — I wanna reach out and grab ya” from Steve Miller Band) or to go off band names that do the same (ie The Airborne Toxic Event or the Argentine band Virus, say) I had to set some rules for this little game, otherwise I’d never come out of the rabbit hole. (And even with these rules I still spent the better part of my Saturday rifling through songs.)
Two additional caveats — 3) the songs ONLY come from my personal catalog (instead of anything available on the interwebs) and 4) the songs MUST be ones I like enough to play without skipping. So while the latter caveat is somewhat implicit in the former — if I felt strongly enough to pay money for these songs, I must like them a little — but even in that down-sized population there are some things I’d rather not be reminded of (I’ve seen some of the clothes you buy — a blazer with colored elbow patches, eh? — we’ve all got our demons…) As a result I didn’t want to just pick songs whose titles worked, but I didn’t actually want to listen to. And therefore what you have before you is the fruits of all this winnowing — a playlist that spans genres and runs the gamut of topics tied to our collective isolation. Some of the bands you’ll recognize from posts over the years, some even I was surprised to find in the crates. I think it’s a fun mix, though — some connections are literal and obvious, others a little more subtle or silly — hopefully you’ll enjoy ’em either way.
I’ll keep adding to it as the days go by — I’ve had to stop at least six times while I was typing this as another song or theme popped into my head — so keep it on shuffle and see what shows up. Gimme a shout if there are any you think I should add — or shoot me your own playlist and we can highlight your creativity/chops here! Enjoy mine in the meantime:
Before we go, there were a couple new releases this week that were also worth flagging — first comes the latest single from the UK-based Squid, a five-piece from Brighton who mix some solid, jangly guitar riffs with a punkish energy that goes down nicely. Frontman/drummer (be still, my beating heart…) Ollie Judge has a half-howl delivery reminiscent of LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy and the rest of the band (guitarists Louis Borlase and Anton Pearson, bassist Laurie Nankivell, and keyboardist Arthur Leadbetter) conjure a comparably propulsive, almost danceable groove as Murphy’s former outfit. (For all these reasons Squid also calls to mind recent fave Silverbacks, who showed up a few posts ago.) This is hopefully the sign of more to come with a full-length shortly in tow — in the meantime enjoy “Sludge” here:
Second, Conor Oberst recently announced he was reuniting his former band, Bright Eyes, having spent recent years on a series of side projects (including most recently with Phoebe Bridgers as Better Oblivion Community Center). This week they released the first single from the upcoming album, their first new music in nine years. (No title or release date on the album yet.) It’s in line with the rest of the band’s output, which is a welcome return after all this time — it also sports bagpipes, which aside from toilet paper might be the single thing we need most these days, whether we knew it or not. Check out “Persona Non Grata” here:
Next up comes the latest from Car Seat Headrest and the second single from their upcoming album Making a Door Less Open (due May 1). Thankfully frontman Will Toledo appears to no longer be re-recording old material (as he did most recently for 2018’s Twin Fantasy), opting to give us products from his recent history. Similar to first single “Can’t Cool Me Down,” this one balances electronic elements with Toledo’s customary guitar, and it works quite well. Toledo’s sleepy croon remains a magnetic draw and he’s still got an ear for a winning hook. (As well as unique accompaniments — this one’s got a trumpet break at the end, so between the bagpipes and this one we’re really letting the unsung band camp heroes shine this week.) Let’s hope the rest of the album lives up to these first two — check out “Martin” while we wait:
We’ll close with a one-two wallop from much-loved Run the Jewels who dropped a pair of singles off their upcoming album on us this week (the aptly named Run the Jewels 4 — no release date set yet.) The first, “Yankee and the Brave,” is a straight ahead banger — just Mike and El just trading verses over a big, booming beat and bleating siren — while the second (“Ooh, La La”) is a touch smoother, riding along on a beat and line from Gang Starr. (That outfit’s legendary DJ Premier supplies the beat, while it also yanks a line from their song “DWYCK” by Greg Nice of Nice & Smooth fame.) Both are great reminders why this tandem is so irresistible — nimble verses, rock solid beats, and buckets of energy (particularly when you see em live). Color me even more excited for the much-delayed album — I’ll be givin’ these a workout in the meantime. You can do the same here (and check out the albums that made El, according to his interview with Pitchfork — some shared faves in there as well):
(PS — since we’re not allowed to travel anywhere, I added another location to the list on the right just so folks can vicariously enjoy/plan their first trip post-quarantine. See Richmond’s entry in the “I’ve Been Everywhere, Man” section…)
In the midst of the world continuing its orderly shutdown (my hometown Ill-staters joined the ranks yesterday) I celebrated a minor accomplishment this week — not only my first week as a regular civilian in nearly 14 years, but my first week as a fully connected, Hangouts holding, Sheets slinging member of the modern WFH population (that’s “work from home” for all you crusty old lobsters) — so thought it was worth popping in to share a little goodness. As I wrestled with the strange feeling of being fully connected to the world and my devices throughout the day (instead of lurking in a dark, signals-free stovepipe for 10-12 hours a day), as well as how to professionally and productively participate in virtual meetings while a fur-covered cinderblock snored and farted on my lap (or otherwise hogged the camera), I found a couple good items to soundtrack the events that I thought were worth sharing.
First comes courtesy of Spotify’s weekly discovery playlist, which has been on a tear lately (so hats off to whatever beautiful nerds/minds created that algorithm) — last week it was Andy Shauf and his gang of punks, this week it’s fellow Chicagoan Max Clarke and his (yet again) terribly named band, Cut Worms. (Honestly — Spotify’s been on fire finding these bands for me, I just wish they could add a rename feature to their algorithm to fix ridiculousness like this.) The name is an homage to a line from a William Blake poem (“The cut worm forgives the plow…”), which I’m sure scores points down at the open mic night, but in terms of attracting the 99% of the population that doesn’t camp out in the basements of used book stores it’s about as inviting as a bowl of his titular entities.
Thankfully, you listen to music first and learn about it later — which in this case meant I was treated to Clarke’s time warp sound and lovely melodies first, hooked before I could get to the minor annoyance of his unmarketable moniker. The sound is a throwback to the 50s/60s sound of the Everly Brothers, one so spot-on I initially thought I’d slipped into an oldies playlist. All bright harmonies and warm guitar, Clarke conjures an uncanny complement to those earlier times on his 2017 EP Alien Sunset and his full-length debut the following year, Hollow Ground. Both are really solid outings, blissful little rides down memory lane and the perfect palliative to these unsettling times. Check out lead single “Cash for Gold” for a blast of sock-hop sunshine and then head to “Life Going Down Sideways,” which sports an absolute knee-buckler of a melody — beautiful stuff.
We’ll close with the latest from a couple old friends, first from Death Cab frontman Ben Gibbard who’s been spending the shutdown in his native Seattle doing a series of daily concerts from his apartment. It’s just him, an acoustic guitar, and occasional piano, singing a mix of Death Cab, solo songs, and covers for 45-60 minutes, which is every bit as pleasant as it sounds. (Aside from the frequent coughing fits, which seem to be a result of his possible exposure to coronavirus — thankfully he seems OK, though.) You can livestream them each day at 7PM EST or just catch em on YouTube, which is where I’ve been grabbing em. Check out the latest here:
Lastly we’ve got the latest from Katie Crutchfield, better known as Waxahatchee, whose new album Saint Cloud comes out next week, her first since 2017’s Out in the Storm. That one was characterized by a wall of electric guitar and Crutchfield’s new powerful spirit (equal parts independence and anger after years of heartbreak and quiet timidity). Early indications are this might be a more toned down version of that one, staying electric while harnessing some of the prettiness and melody of her earlier work. The first few singles have been really good (I thought “Lilacs” was particularly nice) and the latest does nothing to break that trend. “Can’t Do Much” is an unabashed love song, one that sports a bit of a country vibe (similar to “Lilacs”) and bounces along on an unbridled pulse of energy (with a wicked little riff to boot). It’s a great little listen — give it a spin here:
That’s it for now — stay safe out there, friends… — BS
Phew — quite a week we just had there. As the wider world slowly started to shut down — professional sports, music festivals and concerts, marathons, movie theaters, and parades, travel to or from entire continents, etc — it was only fitting that I was concurrently closing up my current job, home to so many heartaches and frustrations over the years. (Nothing says “post-apocalyptic disaster” better than a career in the USG…) So for the first time in nearly a decade as a non-government stooge (and only the second time in nearly 15), I thought I would stop in as a regular human and highlight some new discoveries. (Maybe that’s what’s been holding the readership down all these years!)
There have been a bunch recently — most of the loud, punky variety thanks to my mood as I was winding down my service — but we’ll start with the soft one, a Saskatchewanian named Shauf. Andy Shauf, to be exact, and I stumbled on him thanks to a recent recommendation list from Esquire. I didn’t like anything else on said list, but was really happy to find this one. Back with his fifth album overall, Shauf’s latest follows the model of his previous one and focuses all of the songs on a single theme — his last one was songs about one night at a party, told from the perspectives of the various attendees (aptly titled The Party), while this one centers around one night at a bar, the titular Neon Skyline.
It’s a simple concept, but one that works well as you bounce between the lives and eyes of the various individuals. Shauf’s narratives (and melodies) are at times reminiscent of Paul Simon’s, while others call to mind my beloved Elliott Smith. Add to that Shauf’s thick Canadian accent (“I’m soary I’m from another port of the country,” instead of “sorry”/”part,” for one example) and his penchant for throwing in clarinet (he grew up playing the instrument, among many others, in his family’s Christian rock band) and you’ve got quite a charming, interesting mix. It works well, though — both those albums are top to bottom winners, as are his earlier ones. Warm, calming, and oh so pretty — exactly what we need to take the edge off weeks like the last. Start with the Simon-y lead single “Neon Skyline” and see if you get similarly hooked, and then jump to the more Elliottesque “Alexander All Alone” from his last one:
For you fellow Dylan Thomas fans not quite ready to go quiet into the night, there’s a trio of brasher bands I came across to fuel your fury (or fever, if you’re infected with corona). First comes one I got to too late, the defunct LA post-punk band Corners. I came across their debut (and unfortunately only) album, Maxed Out on Distractions, when its lead single “Against It” slipped into my Spotify feed. It’s a great tune, all jangly guitars and nervous energy, and that got me to explore (and ultimately enjoy) the entire album. Over the course of its too brief 30 minutes it calls to mind Joy Division moodiness and Rapture-like freneticism, which unsurprisingly makes for a great listen, so it was a real bummer to learn they broke up back in 2016. Seems like the four members grew apart over their two years of touring for the debut and wanted to focus on their solo projects instead of sticking with the band, so this is all we’ll be getting. (They somewhat strangely put out a four track EP last year with leftovers from that 2014 recording session, but nothing else seems forthcoming.) Thankfully we’ve at least got this — start with that first single, “Against It,” which is reminiscent of that Joy Division sound before jumping in “The Spaceship” and riding it to the Rapture:
Next comes another California punk band, this one hailing from the northern part of the state in San Francisco, and another throwback to that 70s sound, albeit more on the early side when The Clash and Sex Pistols were raining fire on everyone. Spiritual Cramp is the band, and while the name may be terrible, the music sure isn’t. Mixing the aforementioned influences with more modern ones like the Hives, their debut album Television is a blast. It puts their first two EPs alongside six new tracks (two of which are covers — one from the Pistols, the other from Billy Bragg, oddly enough) and there are a ton of winners in there. “Television” and “I Feel Bad Bein’ Me” really bring out those Clash reggae elements and driving beat, while “Upset Stomach” and the eponymous “Spiritual Cramp” surface those Hives-ian elements. And then there’s lead single “The Erasure,” which is something else entirely (lead singer Michael Bingham’s mumbled vocals and the bouncing beat almost call to mind early Talking Heads). It’s a winning mix — start with the lead single and then jump to the burning flame of the band’s name:
Last stop on the Discovery channel takes us to the Emerald Isle, which is fitting with St Patty’s Day right around the corner. The band is another crummily named one — Girl Band — but similar to the others, the quality of their craft is high. These guys take elements of LCD Soundsystem (frontman Dara Kiely sounds a lot like James Murphy, while their best songs are eminently danceable) and smash them into the noise punk pieces of bands like METZ, which works really well. The band has released two full lengths — 2015’s Holding Hands with Jamie and last year’s The Talkies — which are solid, if sometimes meandering affairs. Their first EP, the aptly named The Early Years, though, perfectly captures their sound — fully focused, no fucking around, it’s buttressed by two monster tracks — “Lawman” and the techno cover “Why They Hide Their Bodies Under my Garage?” Both of them sport infectious beats to draw you in, as well as minute-plus noise-filled freakouts to drive you away, before bringing you back home at the close. They’re both irresistible, building to a frenzy that’s almost impossible to ignore — off-putting noise explosions or not. Kiely does nothing more in the latter track than hypnotically chant the song title with increasing intensity before unleashing in exhilarating fashion at the end — it’s fantastic. Check both of em out and see for yourself:
We’ll close back in familiar territory with a couple recent releases from some old friends — first comes Kevin Morby with a couple tracks from the recording sessions from his last album, Oh My God. (Which landed at #7 on last year’s list.) There’s nothing drastically different here — just the same winning formula that’s made him such a favored find the past few years — and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with THAT! Check out “Gift Horse” here:
Next comes the latest from Woods, fresh off their supporting role on David Berman’s outstanding Purple Mountains album last year (which landed at #2 on my list). It’s the first single from their upcoming album — Strange to Explain is due out in May — their first since their disappointing 2017 cheeseball, Love is Love. Thankfully this sounds like a return to their more normal fare — still a little folksy, but less overtly hippie dippy than that last one. Let’s hope for more of the same come May! In the meantime, check out “Where do you go When you Dream?” here:
Up third comes the second single from former Walkmen frontman Hamilton Leithauser’s upcoming album. Since we last checked in we’ve gotten a release date and title from Ham — The Loves of your Life will be out April 10 — and another song to enjoy. Seems like we’re going to be in for another lush, winning album based on the first two tracks. Check out “Isabella” and relish Ham’s wondrous, timeless voice:
We’ll stick with Walkmen alum for this next one, too, and the intriguing new side project for that band’s former drummer, Matt Barrick. Teaming with Interpol frontman Paul Banks and indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman (he’s played with Bonny Light Horseman, the National, Craig Finn, etc), they’re calling themselves Muzz. And while the name doesn’t necessarily make a ton of sense (short for muzzle? slang for a morphine buzz? nickname of their best friend Pete Remuzzi?) the music sure does. Channeling the more languid, laid back vibe of his former band’s later days, Barrick and Co stretch out luxuriantly on the lead single “Bad Feeling.” There’s no word on a broader album yet, but I’m sure hoping one is coming — check out the appetizer here:
And we’ll close where we started, back in the midst of a tumultuous global crisis and at the end of a long, frustrating chapter in my professional life. What better soundtrack than the newly reunited Rage for such fare? I’ve been listening to these guys a lot lately, thanks in part to the news of their upcoming tour (which, assuming the world doesn’t end I shall be attending), but particularly as I wrapped up my service to Uncle Sam and finally decided to leave. The first time I tried this ten years ago I left feeling a lot more optimistic — I’d suffered less battle damage, was moving back to my favorite place on earth and planning to get married, and while disappointed the job didn’t work out, I didn’t feel as let down — it was more unfortunate than anything else. My walkout song therefore mirrored those sentiments — the joyous climax of the Pumpkins’ “Rocket” perfectly captured that feeling of breaking free from what was holding you down and shooting off into the blissful expanse of the unknown.
This time, I’m a lot angrier. I’ve got ten more years of incessant battling, ten more years of frustration, bitterness, and disappointment — and the resulting damage they’ve inflicted — coursing through my arteries. Ten more years of momentary highs and major letdowns clogging my brain. The analogy I’ve kept using is one of an abusive relationship — you still care about/love the person (or in this case, place), still feel like just maybe it’ll be better tomorrow, maybe it’ll be that thing you fell in love with and felt so fulfilled by again, that thing that formed such a large part of your persona and an even bigger part of your life. If only they would stop ignoring you, or worse, beating the ever-loving shit out of you. Over. And over. And over.
Just like those relationships, though, at some point you reach a point where you know that’s likely not going to happen. Where you know you have to put yourself, your happiness, and your safety first. Where you finally decide you no longer want to deal with that and walk away. (And that in walking away you are not a quitter, or a pussy, or avoiding work because it’s hard, but have done everything you possibly could to salvage things and it still wasn’t enough — and that’s ok — because some things aren’t fixable, and some things aren’t yours to fix.)
Just like those relationships, everybody’s tolerance is going to differ and so, as a result, will their breaking point. I reached mine this year — and then a hundred times over again — so knew it was time to go. That chapter came to a close yesterday — with a final toast from the person I respect most from my time there — before playing this walkout song as I drove away from the building. It aptly captures my current mood and comes courtesy of the aforementioned Rage — for as Zach sings with increasing intensity and anger, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more…
Until next time, amici… (BTW, added another location to the travel pages on the right — Philly in tha house!)
As my time in my current job winds down and I frantically try to figure out how folks in the regular world operate (what do you mean you don’t wear suits (or ties) — like at all? This isn’t just a Friday thing?), I had a chance to finish reading Matthew Cutter’s Closer You Are: The Story of Robert Pollard and Guided by Voices, which was a really solid history of one of my favorite bands. (As evidenced by their frequent appearance in blog posts, including most recently at #5 on last year’s annual recap.) It’s a nice complement to another GBV biography, that of James Greer’s Guided by Voices: A Brief History,and similarly takes you all the way back to the beginning, when Bob was teaching and the relentless band he would front for three decades was just an idea in his ever-fertile/fervent head.
Early on, the band didn’t really play anything. In fact, the band didn’t really exist at all in the very beginning, it was just a concept that Bob had and made art to — fake album covers for bands he made up, complete with equally fictitious song titles. He’d make dozens of these and store them away, a true creative outlet for a (then) conjured entity, but that latter reality wouldn’t stop Bob from talking about how he was in a band to anyone that would listen. He was still teaching full time and increasingly unhappy with his day to day life, so it was almost like he was willing this fantasy into reality. He started learning guitar and recording himself in what would become a long-running habit, capturing his limitless thoughts and impulses in their unvarnished glory — good, not so good, and sometimes (oh so many times) outstanding.
Eventually he did form a band of real humans — but they still didn’t really play much music. The band, such as it was, was basically Bob and his brother, along with a couple of friends who’d get together and mess around in the basement (aka the Snakepit), bashing away at instruments in between drinking a ton of beer and playing basketball. That didn’t stop them from acting like a real band, though, including doing a bunch of photo ops with local magazines and press outlets, even though they were essentially a band in name only — they had no songs, they had no label, they barely knew how to play their instruments. And yet “‘anytime Bob had a photo op, we were on it,’ [early manager Pete] Jamison says. Without anything close to a real band, nevertheless Bob, [his brother] Jimmy, and [guitarist] Mitch kept refining their rock image, taking part in all the activities a band would — aside from recording albums or playing shows. ‘We did photo sessions to make it feel like it was real. We were working on getting the look and the moves down,’ says Bob. He describes his policy at the time as: ‘You gotta look a little bit cool to be in my band that can’t play.'”
This hilarious fiction never seemed to be questioned and never seemed to cause them any issues, which is amazing in today’s world of total information and social media gossip. I can only imagine what would happen to someone trying this today — I feel like the farce would be unearthed almost immediately and the perpetrators pilloried and ridiculed by the online trolls. Yet thankfully Dr Bob and crew emerged unscathed and eventually began recording actual songs and playing actual shows. They recorded their first album, played a few gigs, seemed to be gaining some momentum — and then Bob suddenly dissolved the band in ’86. “It would be more than seven years before the band played another show.”
Despite the breakup, Bob kept messing around with the band (an ever rotating thing, even then) in the pit in the years that followed, recording and experimenting, trying to sell their efforts when they could. They’d hangout and drink (relentlessly), taking in various Dayton bands in their downtime and expressing their opinions in rather colorful ways. If the guys “didn’t like a band, they elevated heckling to a performance of its own. Clapping and cheering like they were at a football game after a band’s opening number. ‘Play one more, man! Just one more!’ They’d dance ironically, or make a show of holding their noses. Sometimes they brought individually wrapped slices of processed cheese to throw at the band — with just the right aim the cheese would go fwap! onto the frontman’s cheek and slide away in a smear of oil.” Now, yes, this makes the guys sound kind of like dicks (which I’m sure they’d admit to if asked), but you gotta admire the creativity a little. The thought of a bunch of big, working class dudes going to a dive bar with a pocket full of Kraft cheese slices is a laughably ridiculous image — one they apparently did a lot.
The book is filled with great details like that. It explains that Bob, still teaching at the time, was (unsurprisingly) “the ‘cool teacher’… art festooned every wall, much of it his own collage work… Bob passed the non-instructional time by creating album covers at his desk and regaling the students with ghost stories… on playground duty, he would make up songs about what he saw, or aliens or elves,” giving us insight into why it’s seemingly so easy for him to create the vast array of characters and images in his lyrics. That Bob “always wanted to be the Beatles on record and the Who live (…and Cheap Trick backstage).” (Aspirations I think they’ve largely lived up to, at least for the latter two.) That one of the band’s iconic songs, “I am a Tree,” was actually a cover from guitarist Doug Gillard’s band, Gem.
There’s also hilarious, random asides — there was the time when Bob and his brother were in the Snakepit playing/recording and they were interrupted by a bunch of local kids who were challenging them to a game of basketball. They apparently destroyed the boys and then went back to the basement to continue drinking/playing/recording while the kids slunk off to lick their wounds. There was the time(s) the band slept on the hood of their car and random alley couches, surrounded by beer bottles and other trash (much of which they generated), because they couldn’t get a hotel room and were too hammered to drive. They’d wake up the next morning somewhat befuddled by their surroundings, shrug, and get back on the road to play the next show.
Cutter does a great job capturing both the craziness of life on the road and the endless struggle the band has had to survive — whether the grind of all the performing, the endless amount of lineup changes and material, or the (still) indifference of many in the mainstream. Eventually the band’s albums started catching on with the trendsetters in New York in the early 90s, which got the band to start playing live again, culminating with a now-legendary show at CBGB where the band wowed a packed house with an epic, sweaty set. The guys were off to the races after that — Lollapalooza, international tours, growing buzz for their albums, almost unvarnished status as indie legends — but for all the ballyhoo for the glory days and the original lineup, as Cutter writes, “it bears mentioning that the ‘classic lineup’ of Pollard, Sprout, Demos, Mitchell, and Fennell played together for roughly two and a half months, a mere seventeen shows, and — barring outtakes — on two released tracks as a band. But they created an updraft on which even a jumbo jet could glide.”
Bob and the boys have been riding that airstream for an additional two and a half decades and are currently in the midst of another “golden” era, having released an excellent string of albums over the past few years, earning themselves a spot on my year end list for the first time for their trio of excellent albums last year, as mentioned above. They’ve got more in store for us this year (they just dropped Surrender Your Poppy Field, which I’m working through now) and I don’t think Bob will ever stop with his side projects — Cutter describes a whopping 17 distinct ones that Bob cycles between in the book, including his solo outings (!) — so will be great to see what comes down the pike.
Cutter’s description of the band’s sound midway through the book is one of the more fitting explanations for why I think they’ve earned such a passionate, devoted following — “Whereas Pavement’s lo-fi phase radiated an aura of whatever, Guided by Voices charged their lo-fi sound with all right! enthusiasm. The lyrics suggested multiple meanings, but didn’t insist on any; it was art that asked, What do you think? and invited the listener to meet it halfway.” That, coupled with the sheer variety, quantity, and quality of the music I think gives as good an insight into why so many people love this band (and why their live shows are such enjoyable, exultant affairs). A really solid read about a really solid band — well done, Mr Cutter…
Dr Bob’s mention of GBV’s Beatles inspiration reminds me I also had a chance to read another of the 33 1/3 series, this one on that band’s final album, Let It Be. Or at least I thought it was their final album — turns out while it was released after Abbey Road, well after the band had broken up, it was actually recorded right after The White Album — ten WEEKS after — and despite having filled that with over 30 songs, the band managed to run through and record an astonishing TWO HUNDRED songs in the seven days of recording here. (Sure, there were a bunch of covers, but even accounting for that fact they still managed to record a dozen originals here, plus early versions of the songs that would fill up Yellow Submarine and Abbey Road the following year.) That’s an impressive amount of production — almost GBV-like, one could say! — and an interesting backdrop to sessions that were otherwise notorious for being plagued with tension (several of the members were no longer speaking to each other). It’s a sad epilogue to such an amazing band, and an album I’ve always felt was unfairly criticized. Aside from faves like “Two of Us” and “I Me Mine,” they also did versions of earlier songs like “Act Naturally” to get the blood flowing (which thanks to the surprisingly enjoyable Ken Burns Country Music documentary I learned was a cover of a big country hit by Johnny Russell.) I’ve been fixated on this one lately, so enjoy one of the seemingly infinite examples for why these guys were so great:
Lastly, we’ll close with a new feature, hiding over there in the right side of the page under the “I’ve Been Everywhere, Man…” title. In addition to all my music suggestions, I’ve long kept a tally of places to go in various cities/countries I’ve visited that I like to share with folks so they gorge/enjoy themselves appropriately. Since folks always ask and I always try to remember where the heck I stashed the text or email (or worse, handwritten nonsense), I figured I should embrace the power of technology and my beloved blog so it’s there for easy access. (Besides — I know NO one is keen on talking to me if they don’t have to. #knowthyself)
Unsurprisingly we’ll start with my favorite place on earth, my beloved city by the lake, and the ever-growing list of places I try to visit whenever I get back there. It’s a mix of food, drink, and regular tourist items that I’ve battle tested over the years (and added to thanks to recommendations of folks I’ve given it to), so feel free to use it as justification/inspiration for scheduling a trip there yourself. I’ll add additional cities over the coming weeks/months, but in the meantime soak up the glory of the greatest place on earth and get yourself on a plane as soon as humanly possible. (At least until coronavirus grounds all air flight and we’re forced to hunker in our basements until spring.) I promise you won’t be let down…
Like Punxsutawney Phil (or the furry groundhog asleep on my lap now in his spastic explorations of the couch each night) I’ve been burrowed deep in my hole since you last saw me, hoping for a reprieve from all the cold and nonsense swirling at the surface. And while Phil seems to think it’s going to end soon, I’m not as convinced thanks to several spontaneous home repairs, interpersonal spats (fuck you, Socks, I’m still angry), and that never-fallow font of fabulousness, work, recently. Hopefully that hibernating hero is right, though, and we can find our way into brighter, warmer times soon. In the meantime, here’s some things that’ve caught my eye since the annual year-end post.
First, we’ll stay in Phil’s realm to catch the latest from the legendary electro outfit bearing its name, Underworld, and the first of two treasure troves from the land of our former masters. This one captures an entire year’s worth of work from the duo and its ambitious Drift project where they aimed to record and release a new song every week last year. The Raveonettes tried something similar back in 2016, releasing a new song every month (compiled in the mostly ok Atomized), but doing so every week definitely represents a level up difficulty-wise. And while they may not have hit their initial goal (there’s “only” 40 songs and alternate mixes packaged in the release), what’s impressive is both how close they came and how good the overwhelming majority of the songs are.
Well over half of them are really solid, from the opening “Another Silent Way” and “Dexters Chalk” to later cuts like “Universe of Can When Back,” “Soniamode,” “Appleshine (All of the Lights),” and “STAR.” I’d dipped in and out of this project over the course of the year and kept meaning to write about it, but its inherently ephemeral nature (new shiny object each week!) meant I never spent as much time with the material and the topic always got forgotten in the flurry of the norm. Now that it’s packaged in one place, though, you’re immediately able to appreciate both the size of the effort and the quality of its results. The pair have always oozed sensuality — from Rick Smith and/or Darren Emerson’s languid beats and musical influences to Karl Hyde’s voice and colorful, cryptic lyrics — it’s why they are synonymous with the dark, be it of the club, the bedroom, or the car you’re using to drive in between. They do nothing to change that linkage here, giving us close to six hours’ worth of work to explore here, and it’s definitely worth the effort. (“Mile Bush Wide” can almost bring you to completion in a scant 90 seconds.)
The pair are doing a rare and extremely limited tour of North America this summer, which might be worth a roadtrip to catch a peek of the human versions of Phil. I was out with forty percent of my readership when this came up last night and they informed me a broader playlist of the duo’s work would be helpful — primarily because none of them had heard of the duo (they also hadn’t seen Trainspotting, with its classic use of the group, which is a double dagger) — but that’s an injustice I’ll seek to correct in a future post. In the meantime, give a listen to some of the choicer cuts from Drift below and get ready to bliss out.
The other bounty of riches from our friends in the UK comes from the perennially persnickety lads of Radiohead who recently announced the launch of the Radiohead Public Library, which is an amazing compilation of rare tracks, live performances, photos, and merchandise dating all the way back to the band’s formation. Essentially the band has curated the best of everything they’ve done, sifting through the oceans of poor quality copies and nonsense available on the interwebs, and given us high quality versions all in one place here. It’s pretty amazing — there’s full festival shows never publicly available, copies of the beloved “From the Basement” DVDs showing how the band meticulously assembles their songs, shirts and merchandise that hasn’t been available for 15-20 years — all sorted by the album the band had recorded at the time.
There are hours upon hours’ worth of goodness here — I’ve particularly been enjoying the numerous live performances, which aside from full concert sets also include the band’s TV performances, including this Limbs-era one on the Colbert Report I’d forgotten about. (I remember seeing it at the time, but didn’t realize they’d played 3 or 4 unaired songs too.) Similar to their aforementioned countrymen of the underground, it’s a testament to both how much work the band has done over the years, as well as how good it almost all is — so hop in your time machine and start your surfing now!
We’ll stay on the island for one more offering, this one the latest from Gorillaz, Damon Albarn’s hit or miss cartoon collective, which is gearing back into action after a couple of years of quiet. Similar to Underworld’s Drift, it sounds like the band plans to release a series of “episodes” over the course of the year as part of its Song Machine project, with each episode detailing the fruits of a new collaboration. First up is Albarn’s pairing with rapper slowthai on the song “Momentary Bliss.” It’s a pretty solid outing — I’ve cooled on these guys a ton since their magic self-titled debut in 2001, but Albarn always stumbles on a couple interesting things on the albums, so credit him for continuing to keep things fresh and mine new terrain. We’ll see how the rest of the project turns out — in the interim, give this one a spin:
Next we’ll depart the island, but stay within the kingdom, jetting over to check on the latest from Silverbacks, the promising new five-piece from Ireland who’s been putting out some really catchy singles. I’ve posted about these guys before — up and comers from the island sporting a triple guitar attack and some jittery, catchy riffs. Still haven’t found much more on them online, still waiting on their debut release, but if they keep releasing singles like this I won’t complain too much. It’s another winning affair — lead singer Daniel O’Kelly does his best Julian Casablancas impression while name checking another of that era’s giants, LCD Soundsystem, as the propulsive bass riff drives things along. The band’s on quite a roll — let’s hope they keep it up (either on that much awaited full length or its continued string of singles) in the coming months.
Speaking of triple guitar attacks, we’ll continue our island hopping getaway and fly a little further afield, this time to the outback to check on the latest from the lads in Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever. I’ve written about these guys a bunch, having been a favored find since Shaky Knees and their landing on my year end list in 2018. They’ve released a string of solid singles in the interim, including this latest one, the oddly named “Cars in Space.” (Shout out to Elon Musk?) It’s another vintage turn — as much as a band this new can have a vintage — full of swirling guitars and melodies that builds to an invigorating crescendo before leaving you thirsty for more, much like the waves of their eponymous coast. These guys really are an exciting new outfit, so let’s hope they keep the hot streak up for years to come. For now, check out [cue echo] “Caaaaaaaaaars! Iiiiiiiiiin! SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!” here:
We’ll head back to the mainland and the safety of North America, stopping first with our friends up north to hear the latest from Wolf Parade. It’s their first outing since 2018’s Cry, Cry, Cry and the first since bassist/guitarist Dante DeCaro (of former Hot Hot Heat fame) left the band, closing a run of three excellent albums with the group. (At Mount Zoomer, Expo 86, and the aforementioned Cry.) Left in his wake is the original three-piece and the band sounds little worse for wear on its fifth, Thin Mind (which is no knock on DeCaro and the importance of his previous contributions). Released just last week I’m still delving into the album as a whole, but the first couple singles have been strong, including this latest, “Julia Take Your Man Home.” Similar to first passes through the album, what stands out is the clarity and muscle of Spencer Krug’s and Dan Boeckner’s guitars. They’d always been there before, but they feel more prominent here, like abs after you lay off the sweets and start running. It’s a welcome reappearance, writ large and on “Julia,” a catchy little tune that’s all bright and shiny (and filled with shapes that look like dicks) — give it a listen here:
We’ll close with a couple solo outings on our return to the states, the first from Afghan Whigs frontman Greg Dulli, who’s set to release his first solo album next year, Random Desire. He’s been working on songs the past three years, since the Whigs’ last album, In Spades, in 2017, during which time the band’s guitarist Dave Rosser passed away. We’ll have to see how much of that shows up in the album’s lyrics, but there’s nothing overt in the first single, “Pantomima.” It’s a good listen, marrying that sultry swagger Dulli’s known for with some muscular guitar — hopefully the rest of the album matches this one’s fire. Give it a ride here:
Lastly we’ll visit our old pal Hamilton Leithauser, the former frontman of the beloved Walkmen, who’s back with a new single, “Here They Come.” Ham’s been largely invisible since his last major outing, 2016’s I Had a Dream That You Were Mine, which landed at #6 on that year’s list. (He did a one-off single with Angel Olsen in 2017, but not much else.) There’s nothing concrete yet in terms of release dates or titles, but it sounds like he’s got a new album almost ready, of which this would apparently be the first glimpse. If so it seems like it’ll be comparable to his previous two albums, with Ham belting out emotional Walkmen-style wallops and balancing those with his Sinatra-inspired crooning, which is just fine with me. Yes, I miss his former band (possibly moreso than any other disbanded unit of recent years), but Ham’s voice remains a singular delight, capable of hitting the stratosphere at a moment’s notice after lancing your heart with similar ease. Same recipe applies here — give it a listen while we wait for more company for it here:
What the fuck just happened? That’s mostly a rhetorical question – I’m up on the smorgasbord of smiles that are our current events and know I engorged myself like a feudal tsar for the holiday yesterday — but it’s also a question that’s emblematic for the year we just completed. Because, honestly – what the fuck just happened?
If you had to tell someone about 2019, what would you say? Or worse, if you had to differentiate it from 2018, could you even do it? Almost non-stop political nonsense? Check. Ongoing punishment and infuriation at work? Check. Equally unstoppable joy and happiness from my farting furball? CHECK. (The dog, not Mad Dog — although…) Some good concerts and gatherings with friends? Yep. A few good trips and meals? You know it. Attempts to get out of this glorious place successful for almost everyone but me? You know it, buddy! And so that’s why I struggle to sum up what the fuck actually happened this year – it just feels like a blur, a fuzzed up, foggy image of the one that came before it.
If last year was about hunkering down and waiting for the thaw, finding sanctuary through separation and happiness through hermitry, this year was about perseverance and perspective, continuing to confront last year’s themes while trying to find silver linings, momentum, and your footing after falls. For unfortunately (though not surprisingly, sadly), there were many — personally, professionally, as a sentient human being alive on this planet. The variety and bounty for all three could feel overwhelming at times. Truth be told, most days I feel I’d need a rocket to clear the sides of the ruts I’m in. That’s where the back half of the duo comes in — it wasn’t enough to merely smash through the impediments as has been the habit of recent years (just grind it out and wait for the thaw, Bobby!), there were simply too many setbacks for that. You’d be like the plow driver blasting through snowdrift after snowdrift, one right after the other, who ends up in a ditch because they’d lost sight of the road.
No, this year required something extra, something more nuanced than brute force or capacity for punishment – perspective. The window by my desk at work is the perfect example – if you look out it one way, all you see is dumpsters and mountains of trash. (None of which are actually on fire, it only feels that way based on how the days go…) If, however, you shift your gaze slightly to the left, you see far better things – trees, bushes, and behind them the parking lot, which contains the car that will take me away from all the misery in a few short hours. That’s the half I choose to focus on each day and the choice I explain to people who often come by and comment on the crummy view — you can focus on the trash, or focus on the stuff surrounding it (particularly the path away from it). That choice cropped up over and over and that mindset was repeatedly tested this year.
The trick was to find ways to make some of the losses seem like victories – continue to flail away at work, despite rising in the organization and gathering more and more support for your projects/ideas? That’s ok, I don’t need (or want) to work for you guys anymore – time to find myself another crew. Didn’t get the job I wanted (slash created for myself — again) overseas? That’s alright, I didn’t really want to work there anyway – time to redouble my efforts to GTFO and get us back to the Chi. Wifey similarly frustrated with her job and the city we’re stuck in? That’s cool – she’s just about to launch her side hustle as a way of getting out of both. (And now that I’ve told all eight of my readers she’ll HAVE to stop procrastinating and launch her dang website already!)
Latching onto those silver linings and seeing those losses in slightly different terms was critical because this year the disease spread and even the things you loved most started to disappoint — be it at work, outside, or in the music world. There were an inordinate number of albums by beloved bands that really let you down — the National, Kanye, Foals, Bon Iver, Local Natives, Brittany Howard, Silversun Pickups, the Raconteurs, Local Natives, and the absolute devastator – the synth-pop blob (and partial subsequent breakup) from titans Sleater-Kinney — to say nothing of the ones who made the list that equally tested you initially (as you will read about shortly). That said, if you were able to find the aforementioned perspective — that elusive flashlight rolling on the floor while the monsters bear down on you in the darkness – there were an equal number worth enjoying for what they were.
That’s what you’ve got in front of you – the seventeen albums from our six newcomers and nine returnees that may not represent perfection, but show the value of that extra effort. Because aside from the top three, which are uniformly excellent (honestly I think there’s one song between the three of them I don’t really like) almost all of the remaining entries had something about them that either annoyed or disappointed on first listen. Whether it’s pointless instrumentals or tracks that contain nothing but nature sounds, somewhat clunky lyrics or odd stylistic departures – each had something that stopped me from loving them immediately, but with time and the year’s two themes I was able to get there in the end. So essentially what you’ve got below is the audio version of the window near my desk – eleven entries that take a little work to see the right way; that may initially look more like disappointing throwaways than winning views of nature and the way home. Or in other words, pretty perfect reflections of the year that was and what it took to get through it.
14. Cage the Elephant – Social Cues: after discovering what all the fuss was about a few years ago when I caught these guys live, with their unbridled energy and giant sing-along hooks that sent tens of thousands of onlookers into a tizzy, it’s an even more jarring juxtaposition to hear the band on this album. With its open embrace of the 80s, both in style and instrumentation (yes, the reviled synthesizer shows up more prominently here), it seems expected that I not like this album – particularly in a year where so many previous favorites had dropped disappointments – but somehow this one held up. Truth be told, I still prefer albums like Melophobia and Tell Me I’m Pretty, but this one has enough of the key Cage elements to latch onto over time.
There are less unvarnished, high tempo guitar songs than on those outings – opening “Broken Boy” and “Tokyo Smoke” are probably the only ones that make that cut – with the bulk of the rest falling into a more languid dance groove that’ll have you swaying, arms flailing loosely like noodles rather than jumping around in a pique. Songs like “Social Cues,” “Skin and Bones,” “The War is Over,” lead single “Ready to Let Go,” even “Dance Dance,” whose title tells you exactly what they ostensibly want you to do – they all fall into this midtempo, woozy vibe like you’re day drunk in the summer and struggling to stand upright in the heat. It still works, though, as enough of those other elements are there (however muted) over time – the winning melodies, the infectious hooks, singer Matt Shultz’s lyrics, which despite being about divorce this time, will still have you wanting to shout them along with him. That relationship’s demise likely informed the change in style and tone, but the band handles it well – even the quietest, most stripped back songs “Love’s the Only Way” and “Goodbye” draw you in, with scarcely more than Shultz and his wounds to keep you company. It’s an interesting evolution, one that could have gone horribly awry, but the fact that it didn’t speaks to the band’s mettle and the merit in keeping an eye on them.
13. Guards – Modern Hymns: arriving unexpectedly like a Christmas card from your childhood neighbor is the latest from these guys, the band’s first sign of life in over six years. When we last heard from them they’d just dropped their debut album, In Guards We Trust, which landed at #17 on 2013’s list. After that, though, the band all but disappeared — absent a rogue single or two, they went silent. I’m not sure what was going on (the venerable Allmusic’s last update has their “sophomore album expected in 2015,” so even they’re in the fog), but thankfully the band seems no worse for the wear with their return. There’s no dramatic style change — no marimbas and ukuleles, or whale calls reverberating in the background — just another batch of bright, sunny psychedelic pop to make your eardrums smile.
From the opening “Skyhigh” to “Take my Mind,” “Destroyer,” and “Last Stand,” frontman Richie James Follin belts out one soaring sermon of positivity after another, channeling that early MGMT sound from their debut. Tracks like “You Got Me” and “Away” add a little guitar-based edge to the mix, but nothing clouds the daylight over the album’s 11-song duration – just blue skies and sunshine for as long as it lasts. Pop it on and bliss out for a bit…
12. Chemical Brothers – No Geography: This hasn’t been a year where I’ve felt much like dancing – more like punching every person or thing I’ve encountered repeatedly in the face – but that’s not a knock on the Chems and the quality of their work. The Brothers are back with their 9th studio album – their first since 2015’s Born in the Echoes, which landed at number 10 on that year’s list – and it’s more of a throwback to their late 90s/early aughts heyday than any of their recent outings. Gone are the big name guest stars and more ambient explorations of the last few albums and in their stead are a back to basics mix of choice samples and simple hooks, which result in a solid (and at times stellar) set of songs to fuel your workout (or housecleaning, as the case may be).
You hear it from the outset, as the bass line from opener “Eve of Destruction” instantly calls to mind tracks like “Leave Home” or “Block Rocking Beats” from the duo’s first two albums. This seems intentional since they reportedly dusted off the gear used to record those two albums for this one, so those touchstones are prevalent throughout. “Eve” drops seamlessly into “Bango,” which is another vintage turn (“I won’t back down, give me my thunder” was quite a fun phrase to shout along this year), songs like “Got to Keep On” and the title track have some of the classic, cathartic breaks of yesteryear, while things like “The Universe Sent Me” harness a smoldering intimacy not normally seen from the big beat boys. (Thanks in no small part to Norwegian singer Aurora’s vocals, which burn like brushfire through the track.)
Being masters of sequencing and knowing how to work a setlist, the brothers save the best three tracks for the climax, the triple threat of “We’ve Got to Try,” “Free Yourself,” and “MAH,” which send you into a blissful tizzy before the downbeat fade of “Catch Me I’m Falling.” (“MAH” might be the best thing they’ve recorded in years, in fact – an irresistible gem guaranteed to get you jumping, no matter the time or place.) Another solid outing from the boys from Britain – keep em coming, lads.
11. White Reaper – You Deserve Love; PUP – Morbid Stuff: this slot’s for the brash young whippersnappers and a healthy dose of good old fashioned rock and roll. Heavy on the guitars and even moreso on the attitude, both of these are unvarnished delights for those nights where you don’t want to think about much of anything, you just want to let your hair down and thrash about a bit. The front half belongs to the Kentucky boys of Reaper and their third album, which doubles down on the swagger and the arena style rock of the 80s. (One thing this band has never lacked has been confidence as their first album was titled White Reaper Does it Again, only to be outdone in terms of braggadocio by their second album title, The World’s Best American Band.) The rougher edges of their earlier albums have all been sanded down at this point, replaced by a high studio shine characteristic of that era’s cocaine laden polish, and it mostly works.
Songs like the opening “Headwind,” along with singles “Real Long Time” and “Might Be Right” are head to the rafters howlers, while ones like “1F,” “Eggplant,” and the title track are buoyant, bouncing winners. The band pulls it off thanks to their unbridled energy and absolute earnestness – what could come across as campy or insincere instead screams like a siren through the fog (or a double-necked axe cranked all the way to 11, as it were). These guys 100% believe rock is going to save you, and they’re here to administer an enormous, life-altering dose. Frontman Tony Esposito’s nasally voice remains a polarizer, but is perfectly suited to the material, squeaking and squealing clear as day above the howling din of guitars. This one’s a textbook simple pleasure – it’s not going to light the world on fire lyrically or emotionally, but fuck if we don’t need something this purely fun, particularly these days.
PUP’s album keeps that vibe going, leaving behind some of the 80s sheen and sonic cheese in lieu of a slightly rougher, punkier feel and some sharper lyrics focused on death and depression. (The opening line is “I was bored as fuck, sitting around and thinking all this morbid stuff — like if anyone I’ve slept with is dead,” to give one example.) Which is by no means to say this is a mopey, sad sack affair – frontman Stefan Babcock (whose high volume scream-sing is also a polarizer) retains his snarky sense of humor (the lead single off their last album was titled “If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You, I Will”), which pairs with a similar “pedal to the medal” velocity as Reaper and makes this another unvarnished blast of energy.
Lead singles “Kids” and “See You at Your Funeral,” as well as the title track, “Closure,” Sibling Rivalry,” and “Bloody Mary, Kate and Ashley” are all infectious updates to “Tour” and unbridled sprints towards the finish line. You wouldn’t necessarily expect this much spunk and gusto from a bunch of Canucks, but these guys make it seem effortless and automatic — they’re three for three at this point. Another winning addition to the arsenal and another 30-odd minutes of pure fun.
10. Catfish and the Bottlemen – The Balance; Liam Gallagher – Why Me? Why Not.: this pairing’s for the unchanging anthemics from the island, a pair of acts from England who do what they do, don’t care if you like it, and don’t change it for anyone. Back with their third album (and their third on these lists – their debut landed at #11 in 2015 while their second landed at #10 the following year), Catfish returns from three years away sounding almost exactly as they did on previous outings. Which as noted in reference to other bands straying from their characteristic sounds this year, is welcome news. Some bands have the wherewithal and/or insatiable need to shed their previous incarnations like last season’s pantsuits. Others, however, are quite happy to continue exploring the range available within their current wardrobe (“what if I pair it with this sexy new turtleneck or – GASP – this white belt!”) – Catfish fall squarely into the latter category, and thankfully for us there’s still a considerable amount of room in their closet for them to maneuver.
The recipe remains the same – high energy, guitar driven songs with enormous, anthemic hooks powered by frontman Van McCann’s booming vocals – and the winners remain bountiful. From lead single “Longshot” to tracks like “Fluctuate,” “2all,” “Conversation,” and “Mission,” it’s almost impossible to not get caught up in the soaring swells. It’s also almost impossible to get the band to slow down – minus the brief calm of “Intermission” and the slow open to the closing “Overlap,” the album is essentially a sprint. Brisk, high tempo, and every bit as invigorating as an early winter jog, this one’s another solid entry from the boys in Britain.
As for Liam and his second solo album, the former Oasis frontman shows he’s not messing with the formula that earned him legions of fans across the globe – hard-charging rockers, punch you in the face attitude, and that singular voice (familiar to millions, indeed, and one of the best rock ones around). Throw in the occasional big-hearted ballad and you’ve got a winning mix – one his former band rode for well over a decade. As on his debut (which landed at #11 on 2017’s list), Liam shows while some of the spark will always be missing when not paired with his brother (who released two solid EPs himself this year with his High Flying Birds), he’s plenty strong enough to stand on his own.
Songs like “Shockwave,” “Halo,” “Be Still,” and “The River” are all straight-ahead, pedal to the medal winners, while tracks like “One of Us,” “Once,” and “Now That I’ve Found You” find Liam in more wistful waters, singing to his family about the early days or his unvarnished love for them. These highlight one of the distinctions between Liam and his brother – you aren’t going to get “champagne supernovas” or other lyrical flourishes to deftly describe emotions here. You instead get sometimes clunky odes about going down as easy as a glass of wine or being someone’s mittens and coat to combat the cold. And that’s ok – you don’t go to Liam for subtlety or nuance, you go to him for blunt, open honesty (he’s called his brother “one of the biggest cocks in the universe” – as well as a potato, for some reason – and Bob Dylan a “miserable cunt,” for example). So similar to some other entries on the list, if you take it for what it is and not what you want it to be – ie a simple, solid rock album vs an Oasis-like masterpiece – then you’ll find plenty to enjoy here. Keep it comin’, Liam…
9. Wilco – Ode to Joy; Jeff Tweedy – Warmer: in what’s largely become the sonic equivalent of church bells ringing on the hour, Tweedy and his merry band of hometown heroes are back with more music and back on another year end list, as tireless and reliable as clockwork. For the broader band they’re back with their first album since 2016’s Schmilco (which landed at #9 on that year’s list) and their fifth overall placing on these annual wrapups. (They were #9 in 2007, the top album in 2009 and #11 in 2011.) As for Tweedy on the solo front, he’s back with the companion piece to last year’s Warm, which landed at #15 on that list. Both are solid, if somewhat subdued affairs, as warmly soporific as a half bottle of cabernet in front of the fire.
Here as on last year’s solo outing Tweedy sings with all the force of someone facedown on the floor, whether from emotional fatigue or the aftermath of that metaphorical foray with the bottle. Either way it fits the overall mood nicely, with songs like “Before Us,” “One and a Half Stars,” “White Wooden Cross,” and lead single “Love is Everywhere (Beware)” shimmering like heat waves in that aforementioned hearth. Tracks like “Everyone Hides” and “Hold Me Anyway” are only slightly more energetic (though equally lovely) before simmering back into the punchdrunk haze and the same pattern holds on the solo album. Songs like the opening “Orphan,” “And Then You Cut it in Half,” “Sick Server,” “Landscape,” and “Evergreen” are all gorgeous glowing embers, while “Family Ghost,” “…Ten Sentences,” and “Empty Head” blaze hotter momentarily before dying back down. Both albums will help beat back the blackness of the day – bask in the glow and embrace the heat.
8. Vampire Weekend – Father of the Bride; The Orwells – The Orwells: this slot marks a first – not in terms of appearance on the year end lists here (Vampire landed at number 7 in 2013 and just outside the cut in 2008 and 10, while the Orwells landed at #1 in 2017 and #8 in 2014), but in terms of making the list despite my never actually buying the albums. The first of two such albums, I never pulled the trigger on purchasing either of these (though for dramatically different reasons) and yet still found myself captivated by them to varying degrees throughout the year. For Vampire I shied away in part for trivial personality principles (I was annoyed at the higher than normal price point), in part because the sight/sound of HAIM members triggers me like a strobe does an epileptic (and we’ve got one on at least five songs here), but primarily because the quirky, hyperliterate indie band I used to love seems long since gone. In its place is this weird amalgam of children’s songs and soundtrack music, and the combination of those caveats left me avoiding buying the album.
The band had experimented with the latter sound on 2013’s Modern Vampires, balancing it with their characteristic (at the time at least) island guitars and clever wordplay, but they’ve almost completely purged that old sound since then for this new direction. And so upon initial listens I rejected it like a donor kidney. I kept coming back to it, though – fragments of the already fragmentary songs would get stuck in my head on waking. The strange children’s chorus in the opening “Hold You Now,” snippets of lyrics from “Bambina,” “Big Blue,” or “2021,” or those gorgeous melodies on songs like “Harmony Hall” and “Unbearably White.” I’d keep streaming the songs and before I knew it I’d listened to the album’s 18 songs a dozen times over. And minus one exception (I still hate “My Mistake” and skip it every time) they’re all pretty damn good songs. Not what I necessarily want from Vampire Weekend or anything I’m going to put on to plumb a particular mood, but whenever the songs come on, they’re always pleasant arrivals.
That speaks to that cinematic quality the band has harnessed – similar to Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, you’re never going to think of this when you’re mad/sad/ready to rock, but you could easily see a number of the songs playing perfectly over your random indie flick or range of commercials. They’re not emotionally resonant on their own, tying into feelings you’re already having or sparking them anew (pick your random Elliott song for sadness or heartbreak or Rage/NIN for anger or intensity, say), but they conjure impressions of them well, similar to the difference between an Ansel Adams and a Manet. Clearly there’s merit and beauty in both, they’re just different ways to tackle a subject. And while it wasn’t what I wanted/expected (or felt like paying for – fuck you Ezra and your $12.99 asking price. I wasn’t married in the gold rush!) it sure was an enjoyable soundtrack to plenty of passing moments throughout the year.
As for the other half of this slot’s “streaming only” tandem, the Orwells’ album represents the year’s most problematic entry. Initially one of the biggest surprises, as I was not expecting any new music from these guys – ever – having broken up in an ignominious swirl of accusations of sexual assault and rape, I was overjoyed to see the brief mention online linking to the YouTube channel of the new material (one of the very few times I saw anything written on the album – more on that later). That initial surprise at even existing quickly shifted to surprise over what I was listening to – aside from the keyboard announcing the very first song (which may have caused as much stomach-dropping anxiety as the plane suddenly losing thousands of feet in altitude mid-flight (“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK…”)), this was decidedly not the same band whose guitar-driven, bratty gems had made them such a runaway personal favorite. THAT band was the spinach to my Popeye – something that flipped a switch in my brain whenever I got a taste and made me feel like I could tackle a Toyota. THIS band…….well, this sounded like some sort of lounge act you stumbled in on in a dingy old dive bar – at least at first.
There were a couple tracks that sounded sorta like the old band – “The Boxer” and “Silver Medal” were probably the closest examples – but most of the other songs were completely different. They either were full on crooners (“Nightclub,” “Interlude,” “Last Days in August”) or these hybrids where you could hear the guitars, but they had a more muted, nightclub swing to them vs the untamable bolts of lightning they were before (“No Apologies,” “Aisle #10,” “REC”). The image that kept coming to mind while I listened was of Michael J Fox playing the Enchantment Under the Sea dance – you know he wants to drop some unbridled, high energy Chuck Berry on you, but he’s being forced to keep it under wraps so as not to piss off Principal Strickland. That image made me wonder whether the band was doing the same thing here, deliberately reining in their wilder impulses and “fuck you” attitude in an attempt to show some contrition (or at least fog their former image some – “what? We’re not wild boys, we’re just a wholesome little lounge act!”) in the face of those horrible allegations.
And that’s why this entry is so problematic. I’ve written about it severaltimes this year already, but aside from the initial announcements of the album’s existence, virtually nothing has been written about the band or the album, and that pisses me off. It pisses me off because of the double standard for how others with comparable claims are treated in the media. It pisses me off because there’s nothing more ON those allegations and what, if anything, is happening with them. It pisses me off because if they’re true and these guys were such well-known terrible people, as is often noted in the articles from the time of their breakup, the venues they regularly played at should be held accountable, too, for seemingly doing nothing to warn or protect the patrons about the danger they might be in. (How many of the girls went to the shows in places where “everyone knew” what shitbags these guys were and then found themselves in positions they couldn’t get out of? Subways post signs about the danger of touching the third rail and nuclear facilities highlight the threat of radiation – if this REALLY was such a well-known danger, then why the fuck was nothing clearly said or done?) And it pisses me off because, despite it not being what I wanted (there’s that theme again!), I really came to like the album for what it was and would like to read others’ thoughts/analysis of it and how it came to be.
What were the recording sessions like? Was the whole band there or just portions and that’s why it sounds different? Was it a deliberate decision to change the sound up so much or did it just happen spontaneously? Were you alluding to the allegations in some of the lyrics or something else? (“I’m a broken record talking about my past…”; “Go ahead and keep me out of mind – no one here’s what you’re sayin’…”; “All year long getting manic with regret – never seen him this upset…”) Also (and most importantly) – WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THOSE ALLEGATIONS? That we get no answers to any of these questions, instead just treating the album, the band, and the very serious alleged crimes like they don’t exist or didn’t happen, is extremely frustrating – particularly in an age where people talk about EVERYTHING. Unceasingly, unintelligently, and unapologetically in most cases – but they at least talk. Trying to ignore things like this is like trying to deny the existence of oxygen. And yet here we are – so I will continue to wonder why this band is held to a different standard and why we’re ignoring the contents of every inhalation, I will continue to wonder what the band is doing and whether they will be made to pay for their alleged crimes or be exonerated, and I will continue to listen to this album (only streaming – I still can’t quite convince myself it’s OK to buy it), enjoying it for what it is, and wonder what everyone else thinks. Mario aptly captured my sentiments, while perhaps alluding to some of the others’ silence – “I’m only resting – still on your side, but it’s getting messy…” Indeed.
7. Kevin Morby – Oh My God: if the theme of the year was trying to meet people/things on their own terms instead of with your own preconceptions/notions, Morby’s is a case study of how/why that can be so difficult. Back with his fifth full length, Morby is one of my favorite finds in recent years and someone I’ve written about a bunch here. Each of his previous three albums made these year-end lists – they landed at #4 in 2017, #6 in 2016, and #10 in 2014, respectively. So when I heard he was recording an album all about God (not the only perennial favorite to do so this year) I didn’t panic initially. I did, however, have plenty of expectations that initially prevented me from really embracing this album.
First, there’s the aforementioned topic, which is never going to capture my heart or mind, whether it’s Kevin, Kanye, or the King himself singing about it. Second, there’s a lyrical laziness on certain songs that’s jarringly uncharacteristic (multiple songs find Morby chanting/singing some variation of “oh my god/oh my lord” over and over again.) And then there’s all the seemingly pretentious “artistic” flourishes and twists – the sudden stop of “OMG Rock and Roll” that breaks into a choir, the spoken word talk out to the previously lovely “Savannah,” the sax and piano instrumental “Ballad of Kaye,” and the literal song about the weather, “Storm (Beneath the Weather),” which is a minute and twenty seconds of thunderstorm noises. Each of these were minor, persistent annoyances that kept getting in the way of unfettered enjoyment, like someone howling atonally amidst a dozen carolers. (Voice immodulation is a cruel disorder – donate generously…)
Eventually, though, I began to gloss over those annoyances and find myself able to focus on the album’s many strengths – the album’s opening singles “No Halo” and “Nothing Sacred / All Things Wild” are both great, the run of “Seven Devils,” “Hail Mary,” “Piss River,” and the front half of “Savannah” are all lovely, and then deeper cuts “Sing a Glad Song” and “O Behold” close the album on a warm, winning note. They don’t absolve the aforementioned annoyances or make this into something it’s not (one of Morby’s best, for example), but for what it is, it’s pretty fantastic – another solid batch of beautiful songs, courtesy of that amazing voice and artist.
6. The Black Keys – Let’s Rock!: back with their ninth full length album (their first since 2014’s Turn Blue, which landed at #2 on that year’s list), Dan and Pat offer yet another entry in this list that established the theme. In part because of who the band is – a favorite duo (they’ve showed up on three year end lists, including #1 in 2008 and #1.5 in 2011, aside from the aforementioned 2014) who’ve offered years’ worth of fuzzed up gems – and in part because of what I’ve been craving after the past few years of near constant punishment – pure, unadulterated rippers to blow off some steam – I was eagerly looking to this album to give me one guaranteed win. Once I saw the title of the album (corny as it might be) I thought for sure I was safe — as you’ve seen so many times so far, though, it wasn’t that simple. Instead of the untethered rock album I was looking for, what I got needed to be taken on its own terms and appreciated accordingly.
And what it is is essentially an audible Arnold Palmer — half a Keys record, and half an Auerbach solo album. So while what I really wanted was just a tall, cool glass of sweet tea (fresh from the delta and the blues that inspired the band’s sound), like almost everything this year, I ended up having to take a little lemonade (which is no knock on Auerbach’s solo stuff – his last one landed at #12 on 2017’s list). Similar to that drink, though, once you get past a potential singular craving for either of its component parts, what you’re left with is still pretty damned refreshing. From the sweet tea side, the opening triple of “Shine a Little Light,” “Eagle Birds,” and “Lo/Hi,” along with later tracks like “Every Little Thing” and “Go” are solid stompers, while “Walk Across the Water,” “Tell Me Lies,” and “Sit Around and Miss You” are tasty treats from the land of lemons. The band’s time in Nashville (Auerbach’s Easy Eye studio is there) shines through on tracks like “Get Yourself Together” and “Fire Walk With Me,” which are among my favorites and are so infectious they should have a line dance associated with them. (I may have constructed one myself when moved by the tunes, which Wifey is convinced is going to spontaneously break out across the audience at a show and help us become best friends with Dan and Pat.) It’s a solid listen – maybe not what I wanted/needed, but an enjoyable collection of songs showing the band do what they do best, while also adding some new elements to the mix.
5. Guided by Voices – Zeppelin Over China/Warp and Woof/Sweating the Plague: here to challenge this year’s theme by pummeling you with sheer volume, GBV put out a remarkable SEVENTY EIGHT songs this year across THREE distinct albums. The amount isn’t really the surprise here – GBV has always been exhaustingly prolific, almost to the point you can’t keep up with them (by their own count they’ve released over a 100 albums/EPs, including four the past three years NOT including these three, and that total doesn’t count the numerous side projects and solo albums of frontman Bob Pollard that pop up with almost the same frequency as the sun). What is a little surprising is how good so many of the songs are. Normally GBV albums are a hit or miss affair, as Dr Bob definitely subscribes to the quantity over quality side of the time-honored debate. (Or to be more generous, he’s much more concerned about capturing moments in time – thoughts, melodies, performances – as they happen, rather than trying to force or mold them into something artificial and “perfect.” It’s the same as those who try to stage the perfect photo, everyone staring at the camera and smiling just so, vs those who like the candid, unannounced shots (I’ll let you guess where I fall…))
And while he may not be as good or strict an editor on the albums, he certainly is in person. That’s why for years my way of keeping up with their prodigious output was to go see the band live – because one thing Dr Bob knows how to do is craft a killer setlist. The band’s trademark epic performances – often barking on the heels of three hours long – contain none of the filler or weaker songs from the albums. (They actually used to have a quota system in the early days for the EPs – “two hits and four throwaways” – but thankfully that seems to have disappeared.) Live the guys come ready to deliver a knockout, every single night, which means they’re only bringing their choicest material – so if they include it in their set, you know it’s the best of what’s available.
When I saw them earlier in the year for Zeppelin, they played several new songs that immediately caught my ear (“My Future in Barcelona,” “The Rally Boys,” “Step of the Wave”), but they were mostly mixed in with older material at that point. By the time I saw them last month, though, there was a solid 30-40 minutes where I didn’t recognize any of the songs, but they were good so kept trying to remember lines/titles so I could listen to them later. When I looked at the setlist the following day and saw that exactly half of the show was songs from these three albums (including virtually all of Plague), that tells you everything you need to know about how the band views these things. They see it as some of their strongest material, and listening through I can’t really argue with them.
There are a TON of really good songs scattered across them — “Bury the Mouse,” “Dead Liquor Store,” “Cohesive Scoops,” “Photo Range Within,” “Blue Jay House,” “My Angel,” “Cool Jewels and Aprons,” “Coming Back from Now On” — and that’s just some of the best songs from Warp! It’s a staggering amount of goodness from any band, let alone a band that’s been going as long as these guys. That they still have this much fire and freshness at this stage in their career is amazing – and they allegedly have at least two albums on tap for next year, so we’ll hopefully see a lot more of them soon. In the meantime, settle in and stroll through the forest of these three – it’s a hell of a hike.
4. Tool – Fear Inoculum: if GBV tested the year’s theme in song volume, these guys test it in song duration, as this puppy has some serious playtime across its six songs. Aside from the recent Gang Starr album (which despite the head-scratching mechanics of delivering an album with a vocalist who’s been dead for nearly ten years, was sadly underwhelming), the reappearance of these guys was the year’s most pleasant surprise. It’s been thirteen years since their last album, 10,000 Days (a title that unknowingly seems to have been foreshadowing the approximate amount of time until the next one), and in the interim the band’s legions of fans endlessly speculated on whether they’d ever return or if frontman Maynard James Keenan was more content to spend his days fiddling with the grapes on his vineyard in Arizona rather than the ornate time signatures and twisted imagery of his band. Thankfully, he opted for the latter and they came back with a doozy. They tried to fuck it up, throwing in derailers like aimless instrumentals (three of them) and the epitome of rock pretension, a standalone five minute drum solo. (It’s even more ridiculous live, with drum deity Danny Carey standing at a giant gong for several minutes, playing various rhythms with no other accompaniment, before shifting to the full kit and bashing away for several more minutes. Note — there is only one drum solo ever recorded that people want to listen to more than once – John Bonham’s “Moby Dick.” Everything else is just gratuitous, pointless racket, regardless of the skill of the drummer (and Carey is exceptional).)
That said, similar to several other list mates that challenged your ability to take things on their own terms and not get caught up in what you wanted them to be, this was both the ultimate test of and payoff for succeeding at that this year. Because while there were only six actual songs on the album once you stripped out the aforementioned nonsense, each of them was over ten minutes long, so had as many twists and turns as the California coastline to enjoy. What’s more, each of these mini epics was host to some of the most mind-shredding moments you could ask for – from the ominous open of the title track and its shivering guitar part by Adam Jones, which sizzled similar to the circuitry in your brain that was frying, to the back half explosions of almost every other song on the album – “Pneuma,” “Invincible,” and “7empest” being but three examples (the latter of which showcased both the dumbest lyrics – see? There’s that test again! – about tempests being just that (wha?), in addition to the absolute best break of the year, a visceral release that liquefies your knees and destroys your brain every single time.) Yes, Maynard’s lyrics are mostly ridiculous gibberish about warriors and spirits and other nonsensical psychobabble – but if you push past those and focus on the music, it’s an outstanding listen. Each of these songs became obsessions at some point during the year – the quieter “Culling Voices” was a personal favorite for its delicate riff and slow building smolder – and I’ve gone back and forth through the rotation about a hundred times since. Here’s hoping they don’t wait another 10,000 days before bringing back some more.
3. The Lumineers – III: on the band’s aptly titled third album, the former trio (original member Neyla Pekarek left prior to this album to go solo) offers an ambitious set of songs exploring the lives of three generations of the fictional Sparks family, told over the course of three three-song cycles. Loosely based on people from frontman Wesley Schultz and drummer Jeremiah Fraites’ lives, the songs detail darker material than the band is known for – alcoholism, gambling, drugs, and depression – and while the tone may be more melancholic than normal for the “Ho Hey!” kids (a merciless gang of killers back in the 30s and 40s) it doesn’t come across as cloying or maudlin.
Schultz’s voice remains as warm and winning as ever, and the melodies the band unleashes are among their best. (“My Cell” and “Salt and the Sea” sport particularly strong ones, among others.) Similar to previous albums, the narratives that Schultz spins are engaging, and despite the darker tone the lives of the characters here are interesting enough to keep you coming back. From the more direct songs like “Donna,” “Gloria,” and “Jimmy Sparks” to more oblique material like the middle triptych “It Wasn’t Easy to be Happy For You,” “Leader of the Landslide,” and “Left for Denver” – these are really pretty songs dealing with some serious, real life stuff. I give the band credit – it would have been far too easy to keep churning out feel good singalongs like their aforementioned mammoth debut single. That they’ve continued to expand upon their sound without sacrificing the quality, care, and warmth it exudes (while still offering some solid singalongs in the meantime) is testament to their craft. Hopefully they’re back with more soon…
2. Purple Mountains – Purple Mountains: this was the year’s most unfortunate discovery. Unfortunate not because of the quality of the music – sporting some of the most breathtaking lines of the year, whether from the sharpness of wit or eviscerating emotion (or both), this album shows how potent good songwriting can be and why it’s a commodity to be treasured, as rare as it is these days. What’s abundantly unfortunate is by the time I discovered this album its brilliant creator was gone, having been unable to find the peace or help he needed to remain among us. And that outcome colors everything on this album – not making it a morose or gloomy affair, but more by sharpening the already scalpel fine lyrics to make them cut even deeper. By the time you’ve made it through the album, you feel like you’ve been sliced apart like a paper snowflake, the remnants of your defenses (and intestines) scattered on the ground like so much confetti.
You know it from the opening verse, the first of many of the aforementioned kneecappers:
“Well I don’t like talkin’ to myself, but someone’s gotta say it, hell. I mean, things have not been going well — this time I think I finally fucked myself! You see the life I live is sickening — I’ve spent a decade playing chicken with oblivion. Day to day, I’m neck and neck with giving in – I’m the same old wreck I’ve always been…”
That there are at least three or four other sterling gems (“When I try to drown my thoughts in gin, I find my worst ideas know how to swim” and the bit about the ant hill, among others) – and that’s just THE FIRST SONG – shows you just what an amazing album this is. Pocket faves Woods provide the music, but it’s frontman David Berman’s unbelievable lyrics that keep you captivated throughout. There’s literally dozens of lines, images, and emotions packed into its too-brief 45 minutes, so potent they sear your brain like an eclipse burning your retinas.
There’s “mounting mileage on the dash, double darkness falling fast, I keep stressing, pressing on. Way down deep at some substratum, feels like something really wrong has happened – I confess I’m barely hanging on…” from “All My Happiness is Gone.” There’s the opening lines of “Darkness and Cold” – “The light of my life is going out tonight as the sun sets in the west. Light of my life is going out tonight with someone she just met. She kept it burning longer than I had right to expect – light of my life is going out tonight, without a flicker of regret…” There’s the devastating open to “Nights That Won’t Happen” – “The dead know what they’re doing when they leave this world behind, when the here and the hereafter momentarily align. See the need to speed into the lead suddenly declined, the dead know what they’re doing when they leave this world behind.” Or the hilariously self-effacing “Maybe I’m the Only One for Me,” whose line “if no one’s fond of fucking me, maybe no one’s fucking fond of me” might be the best one-liner of the year.
There’s so many options you could pick any handful of lines from each of the songs and rarely find anything less than exceptional. (Like the slew of images from “Snow is falling in Manhattan, in a slow diagonal fashion…the good caretaker springs to action – salts the stoop and scoops the cat in, tests an icy patch for traction…” for yet another example.) Berman’s voice is one of many “take it or leave it” options on the list this year, but something about his beleaguered croak gives his lyrics even more poignancy – this isn’t some superstar, polished talent whose life seems filled with effortless glamour, this seems like the beat-up guy sitting next to you at the bar, all rumpled clothes and battered nerves, pouring his soul out for anyone willing to listen. That it ended the way it did makes it all the more tragic – tragic because of how talented he was, tragic because this will be the last thing we get to hear, and tragic because he felt that leaving was his only option. This is an incredible way to remember him, though – drinking down the colors of the rainbow while contemplating life at the mall, saying what he soon would find — his final peace…
1. Andrew Bird – My Finest Work Yet: whether meant as a self-fulfilling prophecy, a sarcastic self-aggrandizement, or an honest self-assessment, Bird’s latest album was easily the album I listened to most this year. This isn’t entirely surprising — every album he’s released since I started doing the blog 12 years ago has made a year-end list — #9 in 2016, #5 in 2012, #5 in 2009, and #3 in 2007 (in what was the inaugural post – the call still stands, Sunbeams…) – and he’s unapologetically one of my favorite musicians. (Plus, he’s from the GPOE, so it’s indecorous (and usually unwarranted) to speak ill of another Chicagoan…) That title’s extra gravity and grandeur, though – whatever its motivation – accurately clues you in that these 10 songs are a little different from the ones that preceded them.
There’s still his trademark mix of violin, whistles, and cryptic lyrics dancing merrily amidst another batch of knee-buckling melodies and harmonies. What’s new, though, is the political edge that runs throughout the album. It’s never quite overt – everything with Bird comes with elliptical allusions and esoteric codes to decipher – but it’s threaded through roughly two-thirds of the songs, depending on how you interpret the lyrics. Sure, his references might sometimes be dated (he calls out the Spanish civil war and J Edgar Hoover here), but his call for resistance (and civility) goes down rather easily when nestled among those lovely tunes.
So whether it’s the opening “Sisyphus,” whose mythical hero decides to “let the rock roll,” the titular “Olympians” who’re exultantly “gonna turn it around,” or the anonymous narrator in “Archipelago” and “Don the Struggle” who asks us to question the energy we invest in our enemies and how we engage one another, respectively — each are lovely reflections of the current day and age, while still asking the listener to engage them in a slightly different way. (The unifying opening verse from the latter should be every person’s morning wakeup call – “Cmon everybody, let’s settle down – we’re all just stumbling down in an unnamed struggling town.”) The apolitical love songs on the album are also outstanding – from the naked sweetness of “Cracking Codes” to the singsong juxtaposition of “Bellevue Bridge Club,” whose menacing lyrics melt under the loving sentiments (“And I will hold you hostage, make you part of my conspiracy. You will be witness to carnage – you know there’s no you without me.” – would be a perfectly twisted marriage vow.) – they’re two of my favorites on an album overflowing with gems. Bird may have been joking with the title, but he makes a hell of a case for taking him seriously. One of the most dependably great things of the year – fantastic album.
With today being the annual family free gathering of unrelated adults (plus two underprivileged youths and some rescue dogs from the neighborhood) known colloquially as “Friendsgiving,” I thought it only appropriate to stop in and give thanks for some good music. Unfortunately, almost none of it is from this year. (This is becoming a frustrating trend of late — as I begin to contemplate what will make my annual year end review, the number of winners so far can barely fill a sedan. (Sorta like today’s gathering!)) Thankfully there’s plenty of goodness in our not too distant past, as a few recent anniversaries remind us. There’s four in particular worth noting, each hailing from the 90s — that halcyon time when carpenter jeans, bajas, and backwards ballcaps were signatures of style. (Particularly when worn at the same time.)
We’ll start with the seniors and respect our most elder, the 25th anniversary of Veruca Salt’s debut, American Thighs. AV Club does a nice job walking through the recording of the album and the almost instant backlash to its ubiquity. As a pimply-faced kid walking around Chicago when it came out I remember both vividly — its lead single “Seether” was EVERYWHERE back home and the snarkiness referenced in the article was almost equally prevalent, sorting kids in school into either the “passionately for” or “passionately against” camp. (Which, it being high school, was a neverending pasttime — “pizza?” — passionately for. “Becky?” — passionately against. “Becky’s pizza?” — passionately for how against it I am.) Truth be told, this is one I mostly left behind with my bajas and ballcaps over the years (I will NEVER stop wearing carpenter pants!!!), but going back and listening to it again makes me reconsider those decisions.
The album sounds great — the guitars are sharp and twice as loud, in contrast to some of the grungy, muddy tones prevalent on so many albums at the time, and the hooks are big and meaty. What really stands out, though (and what I’d forgotten worked so well) were the harmonies between singers Louise Post and Nina Gordon. Sprinkled throughout most of the songs, they’re a pitch perfect complement to each other and really balance the enormous guitars well. (They were also an element that got copied over and over by other bands through the remainder of the decade, though rarely as effectively.) Aside from rediscovering some old favorites while reading the article, what’s remarkable is learning that the band had about as much experience musically at the time as I did, with a whopping four or five gigs behind them before being signed and pushed into the studio to record the album. It just reminds you of the batshit crazy feeding frenzy that Nirvana and Pearl Jam had created at the time, with everyone scrambling to find more “grunge” bands and the next quintuple platinum megastar. These guys were never able to match the heights of their debut (unsurprisingly), but it remains a pretty perfect time capsule to the era it was created in. So throw on your drug rug, twist those ballcaps, and pop on “Victrola,” one of the many sing-song sweet delicacies within.
We’ll fast forward a bit to the 20th anniversary of Fiona Apple’s second album, the still ridiculously titled “When the Pawn…” Stereogum does a nice job recounting the history of both Apple’s debut and its much awaited follow on, which for some people was never as good a story as Apple herself or that intentionally pretentious title. That’s unfortunate, because as the article lays out Apple delivered a near perfect album, one that still sounds great two decades on. This was a favorite of undergrad era Sunshine, listening to Apple’s seething anger as he sat in his dorm room, as stunned by its intensity as its juxtaposition with such lovely melodies. Apple was routinely taken apart in the media for being self-important or belligerent, but rarely lauded for being as fearless as she was.
This is an incredibly honest album, with both her rage and her nakedness being relative rarities amongst artists, let alone in such quantities after such a gigantic debut. The far safer path would have been to chase the sound of “Criminal” and tone down her prickliness, but Apple did neither, creating an album that signaled its non-conformity before a note was even played, dropping that infamous 90 word title like an anvil on an egg. It’s a great listen — as uncomfortable as her unbridled anger can be at times, it never feels artificial or insincere. Tracks like “To Your Love” and “Limp” are withering in their assault, while the closing duo of “Get Gone and “I Know” are quiet devastators. (Both of the latter two made appearances on Sunshine mixtapes back in the day, though likely never to as appreciating ears as my own. (Stupid, Becky and her “we’re just friends” mantra…) It’s one I’ll admit I don’t go back to as much as I used to (or should), but that’s no indication of its decline. (Just my poor judgment and continued inadequacy.) Be better than Bobby and go back yourself, starting with one of those velvet sledgehammers, “I Know,” here:
We’ll stay with the 20 year olds (not a creepy thing for someone in their 40s to say…) and go back to the rock realm for the next two, the first one mirroring the sound of Veruca, the second sharing the rage of Fiona, and both being divisive “love em or hate em” entries like the aforementioned were. We’ll start with the former and the 20th anniversary of the Stone Temple Pilots’ aptly named fourth album, “No. 4.” Stereogum again does a great job walking you through the album and the band, highlighting both their polarizing nature and (similar to Apple) how that might be unfair, causing folks to overlook a really quality artist/album. Now STP will never be accused of soul-baring lyrics or righteous indignation like Fiona — they are much more in the traditional rock lane of blissful thrashing and throbbing sexuality — but that doesn’t mean their music was insincere or without value. True, they erupted with the same velocity and intensity as Veruca with their 1992 debut Core and they faced similar backlash for their seeming lack of pedigree. (As the article notes, these guys always get knocked as copycats and/or hacks that hadn’t paid their dues, perfecting their craft through years on the road.)
In contrast, though, they not only got better after their “manufactured” debut (their 1994 follow up Purple is damn near perfect), they experimented with new sounds (particularly on their quirky third album, Tiny Music…) and lasted a whole lot longer than a bunch of their competitors (their four albums in seven years were all pretty solid, despite the near-constant criticism). They also had one of the great rock frontmen, both in voice and antics, the departed Scott Weiland. His persistent drug addictions and that cacophony of critiques made for a ton of copy, but it largely overshadowed what really mattered — STP was never a band that was going to crack you open emotionally or reveal nuanced layers to your soul. They never claimed to be. What they would do, however, was give you dozens of reasons to crank up the volume and rock out. And there’s nothing wrong with that — for every nutritious vegetable and brain-friendly salmon there needs to be guilty pleasures. Sometimes I want Brussels sprouts, and sometimes I want cake. For breakfast. So fuck off. It’s worth going back and listening to these guys through that prism — not just on this album (though it is as good in retrospect as the author argues), but particularly on things like Purple. (I still play “Army Ants” at maximum volume and go ripshit after the drums at the end.) From this one the bookends were great — opening “Down” was a classic throwdown, while the quieter closer “Atlanta” was always a favorite — with plenty of treats in between. The soaring “Glide” is but one example — give it a listen here:
We’ll close with an all-time fave and the owners of the most exciting news of the week, Rage Against the Machine. Not only did their third album Battle of Los Angeles just turn 20, but the band announced on the anniversary they were reuniting for a tour next year (their first in over eight years) that I will most eagerly look to attend. Stereogum again sets the table for us, talking us through the album and its impact, but this is one I’ve kept in rotation ever since it came out so don’t need any reminder (other than I’m O.A.F., something this entire post has relentlessly reiterated). That’s not simply because this album still slams (the ominous snarl on the opening “Testify” is the perfect scenesetter, one that immediately gets your head nodding and lets you know you’re in for a hell of a workout), but mostly because this band is one whose absence I’ve missed more than any others in recent years. Twice now, for prolonged periods, I have found myself thinking how inexplicable it was that this band — above all others — had not reunited. First during the Bush years and then especially during these current ones, I’d find myself watching the news thinking “how the hell does Zack not have something to say about this nonsense?!”
As mentioned before, these guys among all their other postmates, are as polarizing an act as you can find. I’ve never fully agreed with (or understood, frankly) some of his politics, but that never really mattered — part of this band’s allure was how evocative they were and how effectively they harnessed their titular rage. You don’t need to know what a fistagon is or agree with his thoughts on poverty, police, or immigration to enjoy the utter, primal release of tracks like “Bullet in the Head” or shouting “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” at the top of your lungs. If anyone should soundtrack as tumultuous and upsetting a time as our recent history, it was these guys. And yet minus a throwaway single or two, Zack has been a total ghost since the band’s last release. (2000’s cover album, Renegades.) Maybe that’ll change once they get back together next year and some of that old magic (and current insanity) will inspire them to record some new tunes. If not we’ll still have their near-perfect catalog to keep us company, including this one, whose unabashed gems (“Sleep Now in the Fire,” “Guerrilla Radio,” the aforementioned opener) ride alongside underappreciated winners like “Maria,” “Born as Ghosts,” and “Ashes in the Fall.” I can’t wait to see em all come to life again in person — in the meantime, listen to another fave, “New Millennium Homes,” here (the joy of repeatedly shouting the menacing “A fire in the master’s house is set!” line really can’t be overstated):
We’ll throw three new ones in for good measure, just to prove all is not lost in the modern world. First comes the lead single from that dog., a band whose last album came out…………in the 90s. (sigh) Sporting similar sing-song vocals as Veruca, they’re back with their first album in 22 years and the lead single’s a good one — “If You Just Didn’t Do It.” Give it a listen here:
Next comes the latest from Canadian punks PUP, whose recent album Morbid Stuff hasn’t really wowed me, but has a couple catchy tunes again. Case in point “See You at Your Funeral,” which is almost as winning an FU as the lead single from their last album, which gleefully sang “if this tour doesn’t kill you, I will.” Check out their latest here:
Last up comes the latest from the Shins and this Hawaii inspired ditty, “Waimanalo (Fug Yep).” Not sure what inspired the song (other than a gallon of tiki drinks and a bag of Pineapple Express), but it’s an enjoyable romp in the sun. Give it a spin here:
That’s it, my friends — suffice it to say, I’m thankful for the eight of you, too.
