And the Beat Goes On (La Dee Da Dee Dee) — The Best Music of 2019

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 several times 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.

Terrible Human Beings –Rightfully Ignored or Wrongly Exiled?

After another fun week of service and subsequent spiritual satisfaction, wanted to revisit the topic of a post from a few weeks ago, that of my beloved Orwells’ quietly dropping a new album, and what the right response is in light of the serious allegations against three-fifths of the band. The reasons for revisiting are twofold — 1) it’s a good album, one I’ve listened to dozens of times since that post, including this morning when I woke up with its “Silver Medal” in my head. (That one’s opening lines — “Not a fan of making up this time, got a lack of training. Go ahead and keep me out of mind, no one hears what you’re saying” — sports a clever homonym possibly referring to the broader allegations, indicating “no one here’s what you’re saying.”) That one’s almost beside the point, though — good, bad, love it, hate it, those feelings are almost irrelevant because of 2) the double standard regarding how we handle these artists and situations, as we partly discussed before.

This latter one feeds off the first and reared its head as the weeks passed with me waiting for reviews from the various blogs and magazines. In addition to discussing the music, I hoped they might have additional information on the broader situation to help me figure out the “what’s the right response?” question. Unfortunately, despite over six weeks elapsing I have yet to find a single review on any of the normal outlets — nothing on Allmusic, Pitchfork, or Stereogum — or anywhere else for that matter.  This is the part that I find slightly annoying — the opaque, inconsistently applied criteria for how they (and we as a broader society) handle these things.

It’s almost certainly not attributable to their not knowing about the release — these sites regularly catch such hard breaking news stories as Moby’s new neck tattoo, the Twitter beef between Tool’s Maynard James Keenan and Justin Bieber, and the time David Hasselhoff covered the Jesus and Mary Chain. And those are just some of the ridiculous ones I noted this month — so there has to have been a conscious decision made to not acknowledge and/or review the release, which is where the frustrating double standard comes in.  These sites continue to cover similarly troubled/accused artists — R Kelly, Michael Jackson, and Chris Brown being but three giant examples, each accused, tried, and/or convicted of sexual abuse. (Repeatedly.) And yet they remain acceptable topics to cover and/or play — why?

What’s the line for who gets talked about and who gets shunned?  Allmusic has reviews on each of those artists’ albums, as well as questionable/convicted scumbags of yesteryear (who also happen to be incredibly talented musically).  There’s a lot of them — Ike Turner (beat his wife, the inimitable Tina), James Brown (beat his wives, possible rape), Miles Davis (beat his wives), Elvis (questionable relations with young girls, including his future wife Priscilla who was 14 when she met him (he was 24) and was subsequently left for another 14 year old after the birth of their first child), Chuck Berry (went to prison for sex with a 14 year old), Jerry Lee Lewis (married his 13 year old cousin, attempted murder).  There’s plenty more, but all of these remain “safe” in the eyes of broader society — both to listen to and/or write about.  (Oh they’re also OK to reward with accolades, as all of them have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, among other honors.)

So why do those artists get the pass while others like the Orwells are exiled and no longer acknowledged? The allegations, amount of evidence behind them, and legal repercussions faced as a result are similar, if not weaker, than most of those examples.  (There’s still no reports of charges being brought or evidence outside of that infamous, partly anonymous Google Doc.) And yet those artists remain in the light while the Orwells have been cast into the darkness, ghosts in an age where virtually everything seems acceptable enough to discuss on the internet.

This is not an attempt to dismiss the charges against the three band members or argue away their awfulness — if true they should all be prosecuted and do time for their crimes.  Nor is it an argument to say the value of the art outweighs (or excuses) the bad behavior. These guys were always a questionable cocktail of dickishness and mischievous — both were invariably in there, you just couldn’t tell quite what the balance was and how much was an act and how much was sincere. (The last time I saw them Mario spit on, and then wiped his ass with, my beloved Chicago flag, for example, which is enough to get pounded for on the best of days.)

This is, however, an argument for clarity and consistency.  I think we need to be clear in what our criteria are for handling these types of things — whether for bands like the Orwells, comedians like Louis CK, actors like Kevin Spacey, or public figures like Joe Biden, Al Franken, and the President (among dozens of others) — and consistent in their application.  All things being similar, if the allegations and evidence are comparable, then so should our response be to the accused. And there should be no question over why — because we’ve made clear what our standards are for handling these types of situations: what’s acceptable, what’s inexcusable, and what’s still in the gray in between.  To not do so creates confusion, a double standard, and an unacceptable acceptance of some people’s wrongdoings.


Alright, enough serious stuff — let’s lighten things a bit with some fresh catches from the previous weeks, first with a brief parody video starring the Black Keys.  It’s a spoof of the online MasterClass series that offers “online courses taught by the world’s greatest minds.” This one has Pat and Dan being deadpan pretentious rock stars and it shows they, like fellow rocker (and guy I’d love to have a beer with) Dave Grohl, have a pretty good sense of humor.  It’s a good palate cleanser from the above — check it out here:

Next we’ll shift to another long time face from this page, that of Austin indie legends Spoon, who recently released an outtake from their 1998 sessions for their second album, A Series of Sneaks. It’s somewhat surprising it didn’t make the cut — it’s in line with their more straightforward, rocking sound of the time and a solid song.  Makes you wonder what other gems they’ve got stashed away.  Check out “Shake it Off” here:

We’ll move to the land of hippity hop for a bit, first with the latest single from the relentlessly productive Drake (he just released a double album, Scorpion, last year).  This time he’s dropping a song for the British show Top Boy that he’s apparently a big fan of. (Season three is airing on Netflix now.) Unlike most of that last album, it’s a solid song — good beat providing a backdrop for Drake to talk about his usual fare of “Rs and Vs and Os” and his endless material vices (Versace, Nobu, Milan, etc).  Substantively might not break any new ground, but still a good listen.  See what’s “Behind Barz” here:

Next we’ll check in with the wildly eccentric (or eccentrically wild?) Danny Brown, whose new album (uknowhatimsayin?, due 4 Oct) is being produced by none other than hip hop legend Q-Tip.  I’ve cooled on Brown a bit since his debut (Old landed at #9 on that year’s list) and the pairing with Tip is curious, but this single does right by both parties, marrying Brown’s manic delivery with a vintage old school sample that easily could’ve landed on a Tribe album.  It’ll be interesting to hear how the rest of the album shapes up — give “Best Life” a try in the meantime:

We’ll end our trip through hiphoplandia with a surprise release, the first single from the legendary Gang Starr in sixteen years (!), which features a new verse from Guru (sadly gone for ten years now (!!) and a guest verse from J Cole, all over another vintage beat from DJ Premier.  Called “Family & Loyalty,” it doesn’t appear to be attached to any specific project (no box set or rarities album upcoming, sadly), but that doesn’t diminish the enjoyment in the slightest.  These guys remain a criminally overlooked outfit (their 1998 album Moment of Truth is but one of many classics in their catalog that I’ve worn out over the years) so it’s a thrill to get something new.  Give it a listen (and dive back into those old albums immediately after) here:

We’ll head back to indieville for our final entries, first a deep cut from the latest Lumineers album, III.  The album is a bit of a departure for the band — it’s the first since the departure of founding member Neyla Pekarek, whose cello and voice featured so prominently (and beautifully) on their first outings, and also the first to delve wholeheartedly into less than lovey dovey matters lyrically.  This one (the band’s third) tells the story of three characters over three song cycles (hence the title) — Gloria, Junior, and Jimmy Sparks — only instead of soaring, sunny songs, this time the tracks deal with things like alcoholism, drug abuse, and gambling addiction.  Still, frontman Wesley Schultz and drummer Jeremiah Fraites weave a lovely web without sounding maudlin or overly morose.  Case in point the closing “Salt and the Sea,” which showcases both the storytelling and songwriting well.  Give it a ride here:

We’ll close the same way we started this section, with a little levity to accompany a new find — this one from hometown heroes Wilco whose new album, Ode to Joy, is due out next week.  We highlighted the lead single, “Love is Everywhere (Beware),” a few weeks ago and the latest, “Everyone Hides,” is another solid outing.  What’s unique is that the video almost outshines the song — I hardly ever watch videos these days (I honestly couldn’t tell you the last one worth remembering), but this one shows a game of hide and seek as the band members comically spread out in my (our) beloved city by the lake.  Take a look here:

Until next time, amici… –BS

 

Final Four Flashbacks: Wilco X Doves = Nirvana

Before the big sportsball exhibitions kick off tonight, wanted to highlight some really good releases that’ve come out in the past week — as well as some solid retrospectives on a few beloved bands/albums. In honor of this evening there are four of them and they cover the past four-plus decades, taking us all the way back to the dawn of Sunshine and the late 70s.  So without further ado, let’s jump in the time machine and see where we land.

First stop is the gritty pit that was LA in the late 70s and an article from Pitchfork on one of that era’s key bands, the punkabilly quartet X, in honor of the recent reissue of its debut. It does a good job setting the scene and explaining how the band emerged from (and rebelled against) that landscape before walking you through the first album. Like most trips down memory lane, it’s easy to get lost fixating on the things that seem silly in hindsight (what the fuck was I thinking — turtlenecks AND a ponytail?) — be it the ridiculous names the members adopted (frontman/bassist John Doe, guitarist Billy Zoom, drummer DJ Bonebrake — only frontwoman Exene avoids the eye roll there), the fact the band was mixing rockabilly with punk and still trying to be tough (which is a little like Marty threatening to knife you at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance), or that for some reason the Doors figured heavily in their history (aside from covering that band’s classic “Soul Kitchen” here, keyboardist Ray Manzarek shows up several times on the album and produced several of their albums).

If you focus on those things it’s easy to miss how cool these guys really are — the interplay between Doe and Exene’s voices (which in contrast to the atonal screamers typically in a punk band are really quite good), the ripping solos from Zoom, the breathless bedrock of Bonebrake’s beats. Somehow it all works, and forty years later there’s still no one that sounds like them. Their early albums are consistently solid (Under the Big Black Sun‘s still probably my fave) and I had the pleasure of seeing them live a few years ago and they hadn’t lost a step.  Give this cut from the debut a try:

We’ll leave Los Angeles and make our way to Nirvana, via Chicago, as this next band would say, because somehow Wilco’s classic Summerteeth turned 20 recently. (Exhibit 9763 I am OAF) Stereogum does a really good job talking through the album and its creation (as well as its impact) so definitely recommend giving it a read.  For those who aren’t familiar with the band or have never listened to this album (which — if this is true, let’s fix both those things immediately) it’s great insight into a great album.  I’m actually one of the people who will tell you (“wrongly, but earnestly,” in the author’s words) this is actually the best album Wilco ever made.  It’s certainly my favorite.  Twenty years later this is still the album of theirs I listen to the most — far and away.

Despite the frictions encountered while making it, the album is filled with beauty — heart-lifting songs one minute, heart-breakers the next — and zero down spots.  In terms of quality, that is — the melodies here are absolute killers and Tweedy’s lyrics had never been this honest and open before — but they’d also never been this wrenching.  As the article (and Tweedy’s recent biography) explain, both he and the band were not in a great place at this point, and that bleeds through in the songs — there’s a gutshot desperation behind a lot of them, whether covered up with poppy tunes as on “Can’t Stand It” and “I’m Always in Love” or left stark and unvarnished as on “She’s a Jar,” “We’re Just Friends,” and “How to Fight Loneliness.”  You can tell this album wasn’t something that was easily acquired — this took and reflected a toll — but that’s what made it so powerful.  It felt exactly like the refrain from “A Shot in the Arm” — the ashtray says you’ve been up all night — and it was that brutal, beleaguered vulnerability that drew you in (and still does). This was the first album of theirs I fell in love with and a glimpse of their impending gem Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which is the one most folks point to as their masterpiece (and don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing), but for me this one’s the pinnacle. See for yourself here:

Next we’ll head back to the west coast and the soggy streets of Seattle to commemorate an unfortunate anniversary, the 25 years since Kurt Cobain’s death. In order to mark that occasion NME ranked every Nirvana song — from the studio albums to the slew of forgettable demos and B-sides from the disappointing With the Lights Out box set — so there’s a lot to get through. (102, to be precise.)  I disagree with the author to an extent — I tend to trust artists to put out their best material and am rarely impressed by unreleased tracks (a perspective largely unchanged here), so don’t think Cobain’s every thought/song was borderline genius like he seems to — but he gets it right when it counts and has some interesting context on the classics so is worth a skim.  (Note: unless you’re a true believer like him you can skip most of the fluff and tune in once the studio albums start kicking in halfway through.) Unquestioning idolatry aside, I agree with him on two key points — in general In Utero beats out Nevermind (its unbridled power just speaks to me more than the melodic polish of its predecessor these days) and his top pick is also mine (its combo of slow-fast shifts alongside their patented quiet-loud dynamics make it an absolute juggernaut) — so kudos for not going with the knee-jerk votes. See if you agree with us and take a trip to the muddy banks of the Wishka while you read:

Lastly we’ll jet to the home of NME and the land of political upheaval (I should say — non-US based political upheaval), the fabled anarchy in the UK, for the impending return of the underappreciated Doves.  (As well as the ten year anniversary of their farewell, Kingdom of Rust.) To celebrate Stereogum ranked the band’s top ten songs, walking you through a bit of the band’s history (and why you should care) first.  They do a good job spreading their picks across the band’s four albums, rightly capping it with one from their classic debut, which remains my favorite. (Though I might have picked the title track or “The Man Who Told Everything,” or even the mostly wordless “Firesuite” as emblematic alternates.)  As the article describes, these guys always had an epic edge to their songs, one that was transportive and cinematic in its effect, which is why it’s such a shame more folks haven’t heard of them. Glad to hear they’re recording new stuff, though — in the meantime step up to the sampler platter and see whatcha like.


We’ll bring it back to the present and head into overtime with a few quick shots before the buzzer — first the latest single from Kevin Morby’s upcoming album Oh My God. Similar to previous single “No Halo,” this latest one (“Nothing Sacred/All Things Wild”) is another slow-burner devoid of his customary guitar.  It still works, though — Morby’s voice is as compelling alone as it is dancing over the six string, so hopefully the rest of the album is as good as these (and his previous albums). Give it a listen here:

We’ll keep things subdued with this one from former Walkmen guitarist Paul Maroon who teams up with Panda Bear (aka Noah Lennox) on the sleepy gem “I Don’t Need a Crowd.” It’s built around a vintage Maroon riff, all lovely reverb and shimmer, and you expect frontman Hamilton to come in like normal (he does, just on a completely different song, the single’s flip side).  Lennox holds his own, though, and it’s a pretty affair.  No word on a full album or anything else at this point, so we’ll have to enjoy this for now:

Since we’re already mellow, let’s keep the vibe low key with the latest from the Lumineers, whose upcoming album (the aptly named III) is due out this September. Since their last album original member cellist/singer Neyla Pekarek has left, replaced by violinist/singer Lauren Jacobsen, but that hasn’t led to a discernible change in the band’s sound.  At least not yet — frontman Wesley Schultz’s voice still draws you in, as do the narrative lyrics (this time about an alcoholic woman named Gloria), so let’s hope things continue once the full album arrives. In the meantime enjoy the first single:

Since we’re on a roll we’ll go with one more downbeat track before picking things up a bit, this one from the ever lovely National and the latest single from their upcoming I am Easy to Find (due out 17 May). This one hearkens back to pre-electronic era Boxer/Alligator offerings and is everything there is to love about these guys — stately sound, poignant lyrics, and just plain pretty.  Yet another gem in a long line of em — pop it on and bliss out:

Time’s running short so it’s time to turn up the temperature as we build to the big finish, starting with the latest track from Rooster and Animal, aka the beloved bluesy duo Black Pistol Fire, “Black Halo.”  Similar to the recent single from the Keys (who these guys get compared to a lot and I like just as much) there’s nothing special going on — they’re not breaking from what they normally do or tossing in any wrinkles — but like I said for those guys, there’s something to be said for consistency and durability.  These days I don’t want wild surprises or trendy new fads (no avocado toast and shocking revelations for me, thanks) — these days I’m quite happy with a bourbon or beer and a plate of steak and potatoes. So if you’re in the same place, check in with our boys and enjoy a little ramble with the Rooster:

We’ll close with a three before time expires, in this case the latest in a flurry of offerings from Vampire Weekend leading to the release of their much-anticipated double album Father of the Bride (due out 3 May).  First is the simple, yet infectious “Sunflower,” which aside from a trippy video directed by Jonah Hill (and featuring Jerry Seinfeld in a deli) sports a catchy little riff and frontman Ezra Koenig’s characteristically crazy cadence (“suuuuuUUUUN!FlowER! in tha mooooooooooooooooooooooorning”) that get firmly lodged in your head. Then there’s the more traditional “This Life,” which finds Koenig singing about love and life with his usual earnest splendor. The game winner is the B-side, though, and the almost unbearably pretty “Unbearably White.”  Its lyrics about a seemingly stalled relationship are compelling enough, but the real knife in the heart is the song’s riff, which is as pristine and lovely as that field of snow.  Give it a listen here:

That’s it for now — until next time, amici… –BS