It being the country’s big day today — a country of which at least half is in an ever-escalating sense of panic and unease over the agonizingly badperformance the other night in the presidential debate and what it means for us moving forward — it felt right to pop in and set off some fireworks with a few recommendations for some recent releases. And since today is all about celebrating our decision all those years ago to not live under a monarchy (which makes the court’s decision this week to establish imperial protections all the more galling) and do so with familiar faces, we’ve got four of them who’ve shown up repeatedly here over the years.
We’ll start with the oldest of the bunch and the ninth album from New Orleans’ Alynda Segarra, better known as Hurray for the Riff Raff. Released back in February, The Past is Still Alive has been on relatively steady rotation since that point, serving as a solid return after 2022’s somewhat disjointed and disappointing Life on Earth. (Segarra’s previous one, 2017’s The Navigator landed at #8 on my year-end list.) This one was recorded in the wake of Segarra’s father’s passing and as such seems to have found her probing her past to process the grief, returning to the introspective, spare folk style and confessional lyrics that characterized her excellent early albums. Rather than try to deal with it all on her own Segarra invited some noteworthy musicians to help her out, such as Hand Habit’s Meg Duffy and Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst (the latter of whose stately duet with Segarra on “The World is Dangerous” is one of the album’s many highlights.)
There’s images of being poor and eating from the garbage on “Hourglass” (or shoplifting to eat as on “Snakeplant (The Past is Still Alive).”) There’s descriptions of her struggles in early adulthood, characterizing herself as “a war correspondent, a wandering loser” on “Dangerous” and “becoming the kind of girl that they warned me about” on “Hawkmoon.” (While singing from the “bomb shelter of her feather bed” as on “Colossus of Roads.”) There’s also the resilience that’s characterized Segarra’s best work — declarations that “nothing will stop me now” (“Snakeplant”), “I won’t stop dreaming” (“Dangerous”), and “this year tried to kill us, baby, well good luck trying, you can’t catch me.” (“Buffalo”) It all leads to a very personal album, one that feels as heartfelt and sincere as you’d expect for someone dealing with the departure of someone so close. The album closes with audio clips of her father’s encouraging voice messages, which is a poignant punctuation mark to a really good album. Check out one of my faves (the aforementioned “Buffalo”) here:
We’ll stay with our chronological approach to things and visit the latest release from New York’s Vampire Weekend next, Only God Was Above Us. It’s their first in four years and their fifth overall (the HAIM-heavy Father of the Bridelanded at #8 on my 2019 list in spite of that dreaded collaboration) and similar to Segarra seems to have found the band in a more introspective mood than usual. Where the last album — described by frontman Ezra Koenig as a solo project (one that still used the band’s moniker despite neither drummer Chris Tomson nor bassist Chris Baio appearing on it) — found him confronting elements of marriage and becoming a father, this one finds him far less sunny and optimistic, rattling off lyrics that can best be described as bleak if not outright defeated.
The album opens with the line “‘F#$k the world,’ you said it quiet” on the deceptively giddy “Ice Cream Piano,” so you know you’re in store for something a little different this time around. Koenig sings of fatigue, futility, and a growing “f#$k it” attitude in light of what’s facing him — “I know you’re tired of trying…too old for dying young, too young to live alone, sifting through the centuries for moments of your own” on “Capricorn;” “I was tired, but waking up, I was dying to try my luck…you could lose some teeth that way” on “Prep School Gangsters;” “cynical, you can’t deny it…you don’t want to win this war cuz you don’t want the peace” on the aforementioned “Ice Cream.” Koenig and the band disguise these depressions under a blanket of sunny-sounding instruments and amping them up on speed — there’s delirious piano on “Ice Cream” and “Connect,” there’s frenzied violin and guitar on “Prep School” and “Gen-X Cops.” There’s even echoes of the past, whether it’s of the band itself (the drums from their classic “Mansard Roof” being recycled in “Connect”) or their pop predecessors (the riff from 90s one hit wonders Primitive Radio Gods on “Mary Boone”). It all swirls together to create a rather compelling listen, despite the darkness of the lyrics.
Even as Koenig lists a litany of disappointing realities on the closing “Hope” — “the phoenix burned but did not rise, now half the body’s paralyzed, there’s no one left to criticize…the sentencing was overturned, the killer freed, the court adjourned, a hope betrayed, a lesson learned…” — he balances that with the encouraging entreaty, “I hope you let it go.” It’s a surprisingly honest and embraceable set of songs (something that has always plagued a band as overtly esoteric and elitist as one that names songs after punctuation marks, boarding school holiday locales, and the aforementioned architectural features), one that isn’t afraid to openly confront some familiar and sincere emotions. It’s a winning shift, one I hope they keep up in the years to come rather than revert to their distancing defense mechanisms of old. Check out one of my faves, the aforementioned “Mary Boone,” here:
Up next we’ve got the return of Nashville’s Kings of Leon, back with their ninth album, Can We Please Have Fun. It’s a fitting title for a band who’s long been accused by their critics of having sapped all the joy and enthusiasm out of what they do (as on their exceptional first two albums Youth and Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak), leaving us instead with an increasing number of instances where the band seems to be living up their own backsides and admiring their flatulence. And while there’s some merit to these critiques (those first two albums remain my far and away favorites from their catalog) I’ve mostly enjoyed their evolution over the years, admittedly rocky as it’s been at times. Their last one, 2021’s When You See Yourself,landed at #5 on that year’s list and its moodier, more ethereal vibe was a nice extension (and perfection) of sounds they experimented with on its glossy predecessor WALLS. (Easily the weakest of their outings, in retrospect, though one I still enjoy several tracks from — it landed at #13 on 2016’s list, their lowest showing to date.)
This one by contrast finds them really trying to capture the feeling from the album’s title and bring a little heat back to the proceedings. For the second outing in a row bassist Jared Followill holds the key, having largely been a secret weapon up until this point. Whether it’s with simple riffs dancing in the background as on “Nowhere to Run” or the swimmy “Split Screen,” or more prominent, earwormy runs as on “Actual Daydream,” his riffs are the ones that get stuck in your head and humming them later. The rest of the band do a solid job keeping up with his pace, adding Walkmen-style guitars to “Hesitation Gen,” a surf rock feel to the aforementioned “Daydream,” or some Aha era energy to the fiery “Nothing to Do.”
Frontman Caleb Followill’s lyrics again cause eyerolls at times, whether it’s talking about eating dinner from a can as on the opening “Ballerina Radio,” getting pumped reading muscle mags on the can or posing the nonsensical juxtaposition of a mustang and kitty on lead single “Mustang” (which we can now add to the annals of odd animal showdowns alongside eagles vs sharks (a closet fave) and tunas vs lions.) Similar to the last time, though, these ultimately are minor aberrations, carried along by the strength of the music and melodies surrounding them. (Even though the thought of any of these guys eating canned ravioli — with their supermodelwives, private planes, and big houses — is more preposterous than those fictional animal battles.) Current fave is the bouncy “Don’t Stop the Bleeding,” which has another solid little bass line and some strong vocals from Caleb. Give it a listen here:
Last but not least comes the most recent release of the four, the sixth album from Kentucky’s Cage the Elephant. It’s their first in almost as many years (their last, Social Cues, landed at #14 on my list in 2019) and it’s been an eventful span for the band. In that time they won a Grammy for the aforementioned album (their second), frontman Matt Shultz’s (and guitarist brother Brad’s) father passed away, and Matt was arrested for possession of a pair of loaded firearms at a Manhattan hotel, narrowly avoiding jail time by pleading guilty and agreeing to check into a months-long rehab program (he reportedly appeared drunk at the time of the arrest). As part of his this process Shultz and his doctors apparently determined he’d been having an adverse reaction to a prescription medication the last three years, which caused “an utter mental health crisis” and outright “psychosis” in the singer, potentially leading to impaired decision-making such as that which led to his arrest. (Shultz now credits that arrest with saving his life.)
Unsurprisingly these events are evident throughout their latest, giving us a dozen songs whose lyrics are littered with allusions to the confusion and chaos Shultz appears to have felt. Sonically it continues the synthetic, 80s-inflected vibe of their last one — bright melodies, glossy production, and shiny little hooks — but the lyrics belie a darker side, one riddled with disorientation and regret. For the former there’s the opening “HiFi (True Light)”, which has Shultz going “up, down, turn around,” while the subsequent “Rainbow” has him floating like the titular entity “up when I get down, right round.” Lead single “Neon Pill” has him “knocked down (not out).” (This track is probably the most explicit regarding his pharmacological problems, finding him “double crossed” by said substance.) “Float Into the Sky” finds him “laying down….at the bottom of the pile…floating into the sky.”
Meanwhile back half tracks like “Metaverse” and “Out Loud” start to dive into the alluded to sense of regret. The former has Shultz “all checked out” while the latter has him admitting “man I really messed up now, too afraid to say it out loud — who am I tryin’ to be?” (“on a cocaine buzz and caffeine high,” no less…) There’s references to “golden handcuffs” and a “ball and chain” on the song of the same name; acknowledgments of his “human condition” on “Shy Eyes;” “trying to put the pieces together” and “wanting the world to disappear” (while his partner lies on the bathroom floor unable to breathe) in the Strokes-y “Silent Picture;” nakedly confessing “I don’t want to play those games — will we ever be the same?” on “Same;” and describing “walking the plank just like [his] mother” on the closing “Over Your Shoulder.” It’s a surprisingly honest and mature take on things for a band normally known for its hedonistic, “heaven can wait” attitude. Current fave is the stutter stepping “Good Time,” which hearkens back to that bacchanalian band of yore (and its imperatives to “get lit”) — give it a spin here:
We’ll close with a quartet of lists to keep you busy over the long weekend. As with most lists they either intentionally or accidentally spark some strong reactions — whether by their inclusions, omissions, and/or rankings — and these have some doozies in them, so hopefully they’ll help fuel some hearty debates amongst you and yours. We’ll start slowly with the one that will probably rile the least amount of folks — if only because not enough people know/care about the band (which is a travesty as they’re one of my absolute faves, one dating way back to my childhood as described in my recent walk down memory lane). Said band is British indie icons The Smiths and the ‘Gum recently did a list of their top ten songs, which has some obvious selections but also some glaring omissions — where’s “What Difference Does it Make?” Or “Hand in Glove?” “Shakespeare’s Sister?” “Bigmouth Strikes Again?” I’d even take “William, It Was Really Nothing” over something like “Still Ill.” I know it’s tough to pick only ten songs for a band with this many great ones, but still…
We’ll move to another band-specific one next and the AV Club’s ranking of the best Zeppelin songs of all time. They went with forty for whatever reason, so while we have a little more room to maneuver they still left out some absolute killers — things like “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You.” “I Can’t Quit You Baby.” “How Many More Times.” “The Lemon Song.” “Moby Dick.” “D’yer Maker.” “The Wanton Song.” “In my Time of Dying.” I know you can’t include everything, but damnit man these songs rule. Any of them could replace something like “For Your Life” (a decent tune, don’t get me wrong, but definitely not the FIFTEENTH BEST THING THEY EVER RECORDED?!?!) and not cause any concern. I bristle a bit at the top ten, too (TWO from In Through the Out Door?!?), but overall think they mostly got it right. See which of your faves are missing and sound off…
We’ll shift now to a pair of multi-act attempts — the first trying to rank the best albums of all time (even I’m not dumb enough to try that one), while the second seeks to only quantify a single decade — and begin our descent into madness. We’ll start with the former and Apple’s list of the 100 best albums, which came out recently Unsurprisingly it’s got a slick interface and design, but those bells and whistles can’t cover up the craziness that lies within. You can always find things to quibble with in the lower half of these types of lists (Robyn? Burial? Travis Scott?), but once you get into the upper portion you’re supposed to be dialed in and dealing nothing but haymakers. And while they do a decent job making sure the masters are represented, things start to go off the rails as they get near the top. Frank Ocean and Kendrick Lamar in the top 10 of ALL TIME?! Lauryn Hill’s admittedly excellent solo album as #1?! Even having Amy Winehouse and Beyonce in there was a stretch — in the top 100, sure, but top 10?! There’s loads of insanity here, but nowhere near as much as on the next one, Pitchfork’s attempt to rank the best 100 albums of the 90s.
Overall I think they did a pretty good job — some of my all-time faves are in here (Elliott, Tribe, BTS, GBV, Modest, Portishead, the Lizard, etc), but the rankings on a lot of these are wild (TheChronic in the high 70s? Oval, Boredoms, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor in the 40s? Yo La Tengo in the 20s?!?) The omissions, though, are where things become indefensible. That there’s no Rage, Nails, or Tupac (to name just three) is bad, but that NEITHER Oasis nor Pearl Jam make the list is f#$king buffoonery — they were two of the biggest bands of the decade and the opposite side of infamous rivalries with several bands you DID include. If you include Blur, then you have to include Oasis. If you include Nirvana (twice) then you have to include PJ. Hell, you included Pulp and referenced the Blur/Pulp/Oasis competition in your writeup — you KNOW the music warrants inclusion. This one was utterly asinine the further along we went, but see if you think I’m overreacting. If nothing else I guarantee it’ll stir up some conversations…
That’s it for now — enjoy the long weekend and we’ll see each other soon. Until next time, amici…
–BS
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.
It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, hence the longer than usual (at least of late) delay from yours truly. There’s been playoff runs in hockey and regular season baseball to watch, houses to inspect, things to paint, beer to brew, and jobs to investigate (cuz I gots ta get the f####################k outta here — ASAP (call me!)) all while continuing to work 50-60 hours a week in my totally rewarding (and not at all spirit demolishing) day job with Tio Samuel. I’ve been keeping a tab on things flying out of the speakers, though, so wanted to pop in to share. Since time’s short (gotta get back to that job hunt, son!) it feels appropriate to revive another fan favorite (the mail/tweets from the three of you have been overwhelming) and hold another round of Sunshine Speed Dating. So without further ado….here we go!
DING! “Hi! What’s your name? Borild? How do you say that? Borild. Borild. Is that right? It sounds like you’re saying “bored” — are you bored? We’ve only been talking for seven seconds! Seven seconds too long you say? Ha ha — you’re funny…. (trails off, stares at his loafers)” First up meet the pop punk Beachheads, a four-way from Norway that apparently spawned out of the “black metal party band Kvelertak,” according to AllMusic (which is as intriguing a label as I’ve heard in a while). Thankfully they play to the lighter side of those genres, harnessing the energy of their punk side while keeping the mood bright (sonically, at least — the lyrics on the lead single from their upcoming album are about the rise of fascism so……) They’ve got some pretty catchy stuff — that lead single’s a good jumping off spot. Check out “Death of a Nation” here:
Next! “Hey — good to see you again! What’s with the cherry red sex suit and cowboy hat? Oh you’re getting over a divorce and struggling to deal with the trappings of fame? That’s what your latest album is about, too? That sounds heavy — but where exactly does the outfit play into that? Just working some things out, huh? Well — I feel for ya. I saw you guys live a few years back and you were one of the best shows of the festival. You were performing in a sundress that time, though, so doesn’t seem like the divorce had much to do with the questionable wardrobe choices. You do you, though — I just hope the leather breathes as much as that sundress. Just shout if you’re feeling lightheaded — good luck out there!” Back with their fifth studio album, the eclectic pack of Kentucky wildcats from Cage bring their usual wide-ranging mix of sounds to bear, this time throwing in some 80s and reggae elements to differing effect. It’s a mixed bag, but the lead single “Ready to Let Go” is a winner — give it a ride here:
Neeeeeeeeeeeext! “Hello there — where are you from? DUBLIN, eh? That’s lovely — Ireland’s a lovely country. I got married there! Yes, I know it’s weird for a married person to be at a speed dating event — how about you leave the judgment at the door there, pal? I don’t tell you what to do with your lucky charms, do I? Anyway — what do you do for a living (other than get all up in other people’s business)? Oh, you’re in a band, huh? That’s cool — what’s its name? Silverbacks? Isn’t that the shitty rock band that sang “How You Remind Me?” With the giant guy with the long, wavy blond hair singing? I thought they were from Canada… Are you SURE that’s not you? Sounds like I’m not the only one who might have some explaining to do, huh, pal?” Name similarity aside, I can confirm that this five piece is NOT from Canada and has never appeared on rock radio singing crappy songs like the aforementioned. Unfortunately, that’s about all I can tell you — the band is Irish, has three guitarists, and a grand total of nine songs on their Bandcamp page (1 EP and 4 singles). That’s about it — they’re all pretty solid, but my favorite is the single “Dunkirk,” whose jittery, sparse start builds to a satisfying release midway through. Give it a spin here:
Next up — “Oh hi there — you must be from Philly! How’d I guess? You mean other than the fact that you, like every other person I know from Philly, have at least three pieces of green and/or Eagles gear visible at all times AND mention it within thirty seconds of meeting someone? It must’ve been a lucky guess. I do love Philly, though — I’d slap my grandma for a pork sandwich from Dinic’s. You don’t have one on you, do you? Oh I just assumed you guys kept a couple spares in a cooler in your car, just in case you ever get stranded or need to barter once the zombie apocalypse hits. I do with beefs from Porti’s so…might want to give it some thought…” Spirit of the Beehive is another five piece with not a ton out there right now — looks like they’ve got two albums out, but not a ton of press. Their latest, Hypnic Jerks, is an interesting listen with some weird field recordings stitched between some psychedelic guitars. It loses steam for me over the duration, but there’s a couple good songs before it does, including the title track, which you can listen to here:
DOUBLE TROUBLE ROUND! “Why hello! Lemme guess — you’re from Philly, too, huh? Oh I dunno — must’ve been the elaborate hand slaps and chest bumps you just exchanged with the last group as they were leaving. That or all the shouting about ‘the fuckin’ Birds!’ It’s ok, I was just telling the last crew how much I like that town — hey, you don’t happen to have anything to eat in that cooler, do you? Something pork-based perhaps? Nah nevermind — you can keep the sandwich. Only a communist puts whiz on a steak and cheese and NO ONE thinks lettuce and tomato on a warm sandwich is a good idea. I like where you’re head’s at writ large, though — gotta be ready for dem zombies. Maybe THEY will think whiz and wilted lettuce are preferable to brains…” This latest batch of Philly fanatics are Hop Along and I stumbled on them at the end of the year as their latest, Bark Your Head Off, Dog, was on a few folks’ best of lists. It’s a pretty good listen, but what puts these guys over the top is lead singer Frances Quinlan’s voice — at times sweet and cooing, others raspy and roaring, it’s a powerful weapon that’s tough to ignore. Check out “How Simple” here (bonus track on Sunshine Radio is “The Fox in Motion”):
NEXT! ” Howdy howdy — oh don’t tell me, you’re from Philly too?!? Baltimore!? Well why the hell were you high fiving and hand jiving those guys?! Yeah I know it’s fun, but you hate the Eagles! So what if they’re both birds?! I don’t think you understand how this works… Anyway — I love B-mas, too, so guess I can see liking things from both places. Lex Mark is the jam — not as good as Reading, but the people watching more than makes up for the gap in food offerings. Just grab a sleeve of Berger’s cookies and watch the show! We were there one time when the band started playing Bruno Mars and it was like someone just reanimated the dead — some maaaaaaaaaaaangy lookin’ cats just started spasming in the courtyard and didn’t stop for 20 minutes. One lady was pole dancing with the column, another dude was provocatively dancing with a chain barrier, a tiny Asian lady with sunglasses on inside started freaking in place. Amazing. Does your music make people want to do that? No? More cry alone in their darkened bedroom? Oh well I guess there’s a need for that too. Hey are you even old enough to be in here? Whatever — have fun. Go birds! (Wait…)” The underage interloper in this case is Lindsey Jordan, who was a whopping 16 years old when she released her debut EP Habit three years ago and a positively geriatric 18 when she released her full length Lush last year. I stumbled on this one same as I did the aforementioned Hop Along, traipsing thru peoples’ year end lists, and while her debut gets a little monotone by the end, Graham’s shimmery voice and dream-like aura has enough bright spots to get you coming back. Try “Pristine” for a taste (bonus radio track here is “Thinning” from the EP):
NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXT! “Oh hi, Karen O! I love your old band, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. At least until they started getting all dancey and weird, that is. Taking the fire out of Nick Zinner’s guitar is like taking the makeup off of KISS — it’s kind of sad and a little horrifying to look at. I loved it when you guys were super raw and punky. I saw you back at the Showbox in Seattle for your debut album and it was amazing. You poured beer all over yourself and were shouting at the crowd. What are you doing now? Oh more dancey music? Like a full on trippy disco album? With Danger Mouse producing? (ahgoddamnityouguys) Oh ok, well, I guess that’s cool too? What’s in the past is past I suppose — I never thought disco was all that cool, but I DID wear baggy pleated pants and a gold rope chain so…..I guess we all have things we’ll want to forget. Anyway, good luck with the side projects — tell Nick and Brian hi!” So yeah — Karen O, Danger Mouse, disco music….it’s not what you wanted (or at least not what I wanted), but there are still a couple catchy moments. Lead single “Woman” is a retro blast from the 60s, replete with a Motown shine and an empowering message. Give it a go here (bonus track for Sunshine Radio is “Turn the Light”):
DING! “Oh hello, handsome — who are you? BONES? Well isn’t that positively ominous. How’d you get that nickname? Because you’re tough as nails and eat bones for breakfast? Because you’re a man of the street and survived by throwin’ dice? Because you’re only good at two things — kicking ass and making love and it sounded kind of silly to name yourself after the first one? You know what, don’t tell me — the mystery is more alluring. What kind of music do you play, Bones? The blues, huh? Another white boy playing the blues. Well that’s original I guess — who else have you played with? Bon Jovi?! And Kid Rock!? Oh christ — I’m not sure about this. Eh, whatever — you’ve got a lot of tattoos and seem like a bad boy. Why not — it feels so good to rebel…” This one comes from the mail bag and my old pal down in Texas who suggested ole Bones Owens recently. And while on paper I shouldn’t like him (and in practice some of the songs do seem a little superficial, but maybe that’s just cuz I’m hating on a boy from Missouri not being able to sing the blues authentically), some of the songs get thru in spite of the resistance. Try “Keep it Close” (bonus track for the radio is “Long Long Time”):
UK LIGHTNING ROUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUND! “Hi there! So you’re from England, eh? Cool — I like Newcastle. Excellent brown ale you’ve got there. Pretty crappy soccer team, but one of my old favorite players used to play there, good old Obafemi Martins. I used to love when he’d do backflips after scoring goals. I tried doing that once, nearly landed myself in the hospital. Yeah, those kids were pretty horrified — I’m sure they’ll grow out of it. Who remembers what happened at their 7th birthday party? Oh you do? You got a bike? And had a raspberry flavored cake? And your friend Timmy got stung by a bee and wouldn’t stop crying? Oh — well. Bully for you, I guess. Hope those kids don’t have the same recall — I lost six teeth and needed a transfusion from all the blood I lost…”
DING! “Hullo luv! Isn’t that what they say in your country? I’m pretty sure. So how are you — you’re from Newcastle too, huh? That’s too funny! Do you know those last guys? They’re also from there! Delightful cunts. I think you say that in your country, too, right? I’m not sure why we don’t say it more here — it’s quite fun. Hey so you guys must really love Queens of the Stone Age to mimic them so closely — you sound just like their early stuff! What do you mean you don’t understand — like, it’s uncanny. I think you even rip a few of their riffs off verbatim. It’s ok, I LOVE old Queens so am glad to hear some more songs like that since they’ve kinda left that sound behind a bit. Oh come on — EVERYONE knows who Queens are. Dave Grohl played with them, and Will Ferrell performed with them when they were on SNL before? Cmon — that’s like pretending you’ve never heard of ABBA or the Rolling Stones?! Now see that’s unnecessary — when you call me a cunt it sounds really harsh. Why are you being like this? Aw come back! CMON!”
DING! “Hey Yannis, great to see you again! You guys are one of my faves — I’ve seen you a bunch live and you’re always outstanding. What’ve you been up to lately? Oh you guys have TWO new albums coming out this year? That’s fantastic! Wait they’re about an apocalyptic future with a bunch of lyrics about foxes for some reason? AND you wanted the sound to be a lot dancier than before? LOTS of synths? (ahforfuckssake) Why’d you decide that was a good idea? Did you hear what I was telling Karen O about taking the piss out of Nick Zinner’s guitar? It’s the same with Jimmy — his stuff is always super catchy and ornate. Why does every band suddenly decide adding synths and going disco/dancey is a good fucking plan — I never once have thought, ‘You know what — tonight I’m gonna put on a silk shirt, throw a little mascara under my eyes, and just play keyboards all night. That’s what I’ve been missing!’ Whatever — I’ve gotta go…”
DING! “Justin Vernon, what are you doing here, you’re not British? Oh well that’s ok, you’re quirky and polite so I guess it’s fine. I love it over there too so don’t blame you — yeah anyplace but here these days, right? Anyway — I heard you’ve got some new music coming out, that’s exciting! Oh it’s going to be a continuation of the stuff you did on your last album, a lot of weird electronic noises and erratic jazz outbursts? And expand on the feel from the album you did with the guy from the National? Equal parts Bruce Hornsby and dancing Thom Yorke? With no guitar. Just TONS of keyboards. Holy christ. Ok. I gotta go — I can’t take this anymore…”
We’ll close with a couple articles, first a recap of the recent Rapture reunion with a ranking of their best songs courtesy of Stereogum. Similar to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs who hit around the same time, I loved these guys’ early albums — their marriage of punky brashness with danceable grooves was irresistible — and the list does a good job running through their best songs. (Two key omissions are “Sister Saviour” and “Get Myself Into It,” but they get bonus points for picking “Ben” and “Out of the Races,” which are two sleeper faves.) Last comes another one from the ‘Gum, this one an excellent piece on the 20th anniversary of the White Stripes’ debut (exhibit 7400 I am O.A.F.) — yet another band whose early stuff I adored before leaving that energy and fire behind for odder and odder flourishes. The article does a good job making the case for sincerity trumping pedigree in the debate for who can play what music (appropriate with the above discussion on Bones), as I always loved these guys — whether they were white kids from Detroit or true bluesmen/women from the Delta. Their shit just ripped, and this was a great setup to their future power. Two faves not mentioned in the article are “Astro” and “Screwdriver” — we’ll add those to the radio, though. In the meantime, give it a read and crank it up.
