LIST: 40 Best Albums of 2005

With a new year looming fast it's time again to sort out the noise of the past twelve months. Let's dive right in...

1. Sufjan Stevens Come on Feel the Illinoise! After two consecutive #4 finishes on the annual Eighth Nerve pile-up Suf-J sets a new mark for off-beat pop/folk with his carnival of love for the Land of Lincoln. The guy makes it look easy, and makes an easy selection for this year's #1.
2. New Pornographers Twin Cinema A really good band that starts looking like a pretty awesome band with a bigger brand of their grown-up power pop.
3. Spoon Gimme Fiction Austin based alt-rockers keep it simple with dimly lit songs sweating sexual tension and wearing loosely a mild fear of things that go bump in the night.
4. Sleater-Kinney The Woods This metal-edged departure feels both familiar and startlingly fresh, breathing new vitality into the Rock and Roll we all remember and love.
5. The Robot Ate Me Carousel Waltz Oddly sweet and sweetly odd, this is my Big Surprise album of the year.
6. The Books Lost and Safe Found sound and digital hush manipulators find a deeper soul and a clearer voice.
7. Ryan Adams &; The Cardinals Cold Roses This grew on me. Adams seems to be able to cut loose and let the songs unfold with a greater sense of maturity.
8. Wolf Parade My Apologies to the Queen Mary More earnest and energetic everything-but-the-kitchen-sink holler rock from Montreal. Wolves!
9. M. Ward Transistor Radio A hand-crafted album that sounds both new and old, fresh and time-tested.
10. Great Lake Swimmers s/t You can actually hear crickets chirping throughout the album.
11 / 12. Bright Eyes I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning / Digital Ash in a Digital Urn Young Connor Oberst peaked early this year with his dual releases, but "Wide Awake" still resonates, and "Digital Ash," arguably the lesser half of Oberst's original material this year, is holding up remarkably well in a Death Cab dominated market.
13. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah s/t (Nearly) rivals the ecstatic bombast and oddball sentimentality of Neutral Milk Hotel, Hefner and Arcade Fire. Clap your hands, indeed!
14. The Go! Team Thunder, Lightning, Strike Authentic samples of cheerleaders over tinny, upbeat instrumentals nearly convinces me that true pop-songs don't always need a singer. A soundtrack for some weirdo fun you haven't had yet.
15. Andrew Bird Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs Like Decemberists and Damien Rice, Bird makes the simple things sound rich and theatrical.
16. Six Organs of Admittance School of the Flower Bay Area freak-out rock band Comets on Fire guitarist gets all sensitive and prog and stuff. Free jazz for the post-rock / new-folk set for whom jazz = hell.
17. Prefuse 73 Prefuse 73 Reads The Books See The Books Lost and Safe above. Abbreviated take on glitch-pop + a bottom end. It isn't likely to pack lap-top toting audio nerds into techno clubs or send sugar addict loop fiends in search of Max Richter... but it might.
18/19. Iron & Wine w/ Calexico In the Reins + Iron & Wine Woman King ep Even though they are markedly different albums I'm bundling them together as two halves of the year's progressively more ambitious and revelatory effort. The Sam Beam story gets richer by the day, I can't wait to see where it leads... Now if Beam would just sing with the same gusto with which he is writing and playing.
20. Low The Great Destroyer You know the universe is a relative place when this is a "rock" album. Veteran shoe-gazers amp up their earnest shuffling to generate a mild but memorable electric charge.
21. Wilco Kicking Television: Live In Chicago I'm not typically a fan of live albums, but this presents a band (my favorite one, at that) playing for a hometown crowd at a moment when its creative and popular peaks coincide. Newer material from "Ghost" and "YHF" is showcased with an emphasis on the band's emerging Sonic-Dead incarnation.
22. Beck Guero His Beckness falls short of true greatness by failing to do what he does best - reinterpret a genre through that beautifully tweaked thing he calls a brain. He'll have to settle for mere extremely-goodness.
23. Common Be Soul and hip-hop brilliantly balanced by the increasingly luminous Chicago based MC.
24. Bear vs. Shark Terrorhawk If you listen carefully you can hear the arm and back muscles of guitarists Marc Paffi and Derek Kiesgen stretch and swell in tune.
25. Franz Ferdinand You Could Have It So Much Better Bigger, Faster, Louder, Yea! Franz largely stays the course on this second outing, veering left and right rather than digging in.
26. Decemberists Picaresque I would like to thank the Decemberists for giving me the opportunity to use the word Dickensian.
27. Broken Social Scene s/t Somewhere behind the heavy smoke screen of reverb and scaling keyboards there is a really good album here.
28. Caribou The Milk of Human Kindness "Manitoba" digi-pop artist delivers a less frenetic blend of techno and indie-rock.
29. Bloc Party Silent Alarm I saw this coming like it had been set on fire and hurled across the Atlantic by a giant catapult. Somebody might have yelled "duck!" but instead we all ran toward its bright glow. Hyperactive and self-serious, I expect them to burn out fast in the icy shadows of fellow brits Radiohead and Coldplay. That being said, it's pretty decent indie rock the way the kids like it these days... all emo and high-hats.
30. Son Volt Okemah and the Melody of Riot The new Son Volt sounds remarkably like... the old Son Volt. Jay Farrar's guitar-driven roots rock unit slightly over-reaches its sound with modern day dust bowl politics, but still manages to kick up some dirt.
31. Death Cab For Cutie Plans The success of digipop alter ego Postal Service and some heavy championing by Fox TV's uber hip "The O.C." puts "Plans" in an unusual spot. Moody and populist, dim and bright. Boring and interesting.
32. The White Stripes Get Behind Me Satan It's possible the White Stripes have achieved market saturation, jaundicing my view of the band. "Satan" veers back toward their Detroit soul and rock origins and away from the hillbilly-metal blues they've been sweating, which I think is a good thing. That and the occasional Target ad or Coke jingle.
33. Bonnie Prince Billy & Matt Sweeney Superwolf This is what the good Rev. Will Oldham sounds like when he's given access to a big bag of weed and some electricity. More wolves!
34. Hail Social s/t Hail Social is to Joy Division what Winger was to Van Halen. Ooh, that must sting. This has all the hallmarks of a future guilty pleasure. If it's any consolation I still have a Winger cassette around here somewhere... "She's only seventeen...SEVENTEEN!"
35. Stars Set Yourself on Fire Largely indistinguishable from emo-friendly luminaries Coldplay, Bloc Party, etc... not bad but not original enough to place higher.
36. Oranges Band The World and Everything in it See "Stars" entry above.
37. Caitlin Cary & Thad Cockrell Begonias Cary finds in Cockrell what her solo albums missed without Whiskeytown partner Ryan Adams - balance, harmony and texture. There is chemistry, but the pair lacks the tension and excitement needed to make most songs really stick. Speaking of Ryan Adams...
38. Ryan Adams & The Cardinals Jacksonville City Nights Adams as the drunken country-western roadhouse singer somehow doesn't play as well as Adams the drunken urban-transplant troubador or even Adams the drunken Phil Lesh worshiper.
39. Super Furry Animals Love Kraft Welsh rock collective looks back to seventies prog and lets their usual off-kilter brand of sunny pop get bogged down in a murky, apocalyptic sci-fi sound.
40. Devendra Banhart Cripple Crow Damn hippie.


Notable ommissions:
Antony and the Johnsons I Am a Bird Now I managed to spend the entire year without needing to wallow in urbane cabaret mope, no matter how stark or beautiful. Just seeing the guy's photo makes me want to cry, I can't imagine what hearing him sing would do.
LCD Soundsystem s/t So many promising NYC experimental, arty digi-pop dance-punk bands, so little time. I'd like to get into this, it just didn't happen in 2005.
Weezer Make Believe If you can smell a turd a block away is there really any point in walking over to pick it up? The Weez let me down... long live the Weez!
Kanye West Late Registration It's true, ubiquitous hip-hop superstars don't get much PT at my house. While I'm sure this album will breath deeply the thin air at the top of many year-end lists, I just didn't get around to it.

REVIEW: Ryan Adams & The Cardinals "Jacksonville City Nights"

Rating: 6

With "Jacksonville City Nights" (once re-named then un-named "September") Ryan Adams seems to be padding his resume and ever growing catalog with another genre album.  2003's "Rock-n-Roll" saw Adams stitching the "alt-" that usually preceeds his Country label onto straight-ahead Rock.  This time  he has shed the "alt-" altogether and embraced the Country within.  He's not quite ready for the Grand Ole Opry but there is plenty of slide steel and fiddle on most tracks to push the southern fried feel of "Cold Roses" away from the Allman Brothers and just a little toward the Stattlers. 

Songs evoke a bitter-sweet nostalgia for the deep south - humid nights, Jesus, scuffed cowboy boots and love lost for liquor.  Many numbers find Adams singing in a slightly lower register than his usual high tenor, creating a persona that is perhaps more earnest and certainly more relaxed even as he struggles to bridge the break in his own voice.  Maybe call it his church voice.  It also tends to bleed some of the urgency and twenties-something angst from his sound, a tension that is more than welcome when it does show up.  Then again Adams turned 30 last year, so...

The Cardinals prove to be a versatile and adept backing unit, good at building texture and varying the pace from tear drenched country to road ramblling blues.  Taken together, this year's releases - "Cold Roses," "Jacksonville" and the upcoming "29" - could mark a significant period of maturation for Adams as a songwriter even as he explores a few side tracks along the way.  You know what they say, peel an onion...

REVIEW: Sufjan Stevens "...Invites You To Come On Feel the Illinoise"

Rating: 9.5

There are some people who make you think “Gee, I’d like to be friends with them, they seem like really interesting friends to have…”  Then in the next breath you think “Actually, I’m kind of glad they’re not my friends, they seem a little too interesting, like maybe they're in a cult or really rich or something…”  No?

C’mon, you know what I’m talking about.  There’s a group of decent looking – okay, quite attractive - people in casually hip urban fashions sitting around a table drinking chai.  "I've never tried chai, I wonder if it's sweet?" you think to yourself.  Their eyes sparkle with zeal as they talk, using their hands and pointing at things you can’t see but which seem so very real.  There are no loud guffaws and no awkward silences; no one seems to feel left out.  .

You think to yourself “my friends and I don’t sit and talk like that, not about ideas, not about history… celebrity divorces maybe, but not Frank Lloyd Wright.”  And you don’t.  “That looks nice, I’d like to be part of a group like that.”  You think.  “Maybe I’d like to be part of that group…”  Wouldn’t that be great, to sip chai and talk about big ideas and the world and neat stuff like that... it would be like living in a sitcom!

Then again, that could be a lot of work.  There’s probably a defacto reading list and a ton of inside jokes.  You’ll spend a small fortune trying to figure out what they listen to, what they wear.  You’ll probably need to learn a second language.  Plus in a group like this there are bound to be some weird dynamics lingering below the surface.  You know someone hooked up with the guy in the cap, the one who looks like Enrique Iglesias and Wilmer Valderrama’s long lost half brother.  Maybe she did – or maybe he did.  Maybe both.  Who are you to judge.

These folks are working in broad strokes on a huge canvas.  The rest of us prefer Polaroids and Post-it notes.  I mean really, can you believe that guy - the one in the cap – he’s recording an album of songs for each of the fifty states?  And you can barely keep up your collection of new quarters.  By the way, have you seen Oregon?  Bor-ing.

However fascinating and brilliant these people are they are not accepting applications.  When the time is right they will come to you.

But I digress.

I love Sufjan Stevens and I love this album.  I love that he really does plan to record one for each of our fine states.  I love that this is only his second installment in the magnum opus-to-be since “Michigan” arrived in 2003, that at this rate we’ll see “Idaho” sometime around 2104, and that he can still come up with enough material for the laudable “Seven Swans” in the midst his US civics project.  I’ll still love it even if half of his fifty states albums are EPs – what can you say about Arkansas in twenty songs that you can’t cover in eight?  I love the ambitious young Mr. Stevens like a weird relative I never see and won’t go out of my way to call.  Maybe it’s just easier to appreciate him from afar.  Actual conversations are always a little weird and definitely tiring.  It takes energy to engage so much sincerity, such big ideas.  Plus there’s all the born again Jesus stuff.

Speaking of Jesus, the album starts with a song about UFOs.  Heavenly lights, angelic visitations and unexplained phenomena have always made equally good fodder for pop songs and bible stories.  It’s a gentle and gently weird opening number, but on an album that boasts nearly two-dozen tracks Suf-J can easily afford a proper welcome mat - one that says “This is not your chamber of commerce approved tribute to the Land of Lincoln, but it’s interesting so come on in.”

Generally speaking the album balances the paradoxical ambitions at work in the greater project.  On one hand Suf-J (I’m going to keep using that until it sticks) expands his sound to celebrate the ubiquity of an entire state, particularly one containing America’s Second City and a great lake, though there is no overt mention of that lake (Lake Michigan, perhaps glossed over to avoid confusion with his previous state-centric offering “Greetings from Michigan”).  On the other hand he is presenting what seems like a collection of significant and specific personal experiences informed by and located in a place.  The grand scope and balanced sensitivity is reflected in the album’s collection of poetic song titles where “A Short Reprise for Mary Todd, Who Went Insane, But for Very Good Reasons,” a medium-length label by Suf-J’s standards, belies an empathy and respect for the fragile human nature of disappearing players in a vast historical play.

Upbeat songs like “Come On! Feel The Illinoise!,” “Chicago,” and “The Man Of Metropolis…” play as if scoring a cheeky video montage of Stevens and friends cavorting around town, mugging for pictures in all the places you’ve ever recognized as Illinois-ey.  Famous natives are casually name-checked but not belabored (Carl Sandberg, Frank Lloyd Wright, Abe Lincoln).  Stevens wisely spends more time on the stories you don’t need an entire wing of the library to tell; those touching and occasionally odd tales that stick in your mind only to be dislodged by some seemingly unrelated tidbit when you least expect it.  From the aching honesty of a moment captured and somewhat misleadingly titled “The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!” to the stark and lingering “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.” the abstract and incomprehensible are humanized without removing the gory stingers.

While there are plenty of great moments to relish the album sounds best in its entirety – a whole greater than the sum of its considerable and many parts - an unusual feat for what could easily have been a throwaway pop-concept piece in a series of likeably similar efforts.  Sufjan Stevens’ musical postcard from Illinois plays like a concise autobiography of a long trip in a rented van, maybe while listening to The Who's "Tommy" or Disney World’s “It's a Small World” attraction.  Like any good road trip, songs match celebration with introspection, leaving behind memorable images and revealing more about the passengers than the passing scenery.  And isn’t that the point?  The ebb and flow of the songs, their wit, whimsy, and sullen charm, make the album good.  The gentle tide of emotions shared while listening, its ability to linger and inspire reflection, makes it something greater than a collection of songs on a theme, it makes this a great album.

LIST: Kyle's Totally Shameless Twelve Days of Music Wish List, 2005

Ah, it's that greedy time of year again.  The best gifts are the ones the recipient will like but would never buy for himself.  So with that in mind please sing along!  "On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me..."

1. LCD Soundsystem "s/t"
2. Blood on the Wall "Awesomer"
3. The National "Alligator"
4. Okkervil River "Black Sheep Boy"
5. The Rosebuds "Birds Make Good Neighbors"
6. Wooden Wand "Harem of the Sundrum and the Witness Figg"
7. Great Lake Swimmers "Bodies and Minds"
8. Boy Least Likely To "Best Party Ever"
9. My Morning Jacket "Z"
10. Jens Lekman "Oh You're So Silent Jens"
11. Antony and the Johnsons "I am a Bird Now"
12. Bell Orchestre "Recording a Tape the Colour of Light"

REVIEW: Prefuse 73 "Prefuse 73 Reads The Books"

Rating: 8.5

The success of any remix or collaborative project can be as easily attributed to luck as it can be to the controllable and timely fusion of complimentary artists.  The dense but danceable electronica of Scott Herren's Prefuse 73 project, a digital hip-hop steamroller of sorts, provides a deep and regularly-but-not-predictably spinning roulette wheel over which the treble and glitch-heavy Books move adroitly like a bouncing ball.

The compositions are simply numbered (uno - ocho) and are evenly balanced making it hard to imagine the album as a pure remix.  The feel is one of mutual benefit, Herren's populist 808 bottom line and aggressively structured MC splicing is given the benefit of a larger cerebrum and softer edge via The Books, while The Books often oblique lack of structure is remedied nicely by some straightforward beats.

The eight song "ep" is rewarding enough in its texture and depth to play like an LP, leaving the active listener sated but wanting more and the casual bystander curious and unoffended.  For those looking to get into The Books, this is less like Cliff's Notes and more like the critically acclaimed film adaptation by a kinder, gentler Prefuse 73.

REVIEW: Franz Ferdinand "You Could Have It So Much Better"

Rating: 6

It is okay to be a little disappointed if Franz Ferdinand turns out to be another plastic pop band churning out ad-ready futbol anthems begging for the remix treatment before being shoveled onto every dance floor west of Berlin.  Their eponymous self titled debut broke from the waning garage-glam revival and set them apart from the burgeoning disco-punk and New New Wave scenes with a sound that is at once accessible and complex, plus there’s the whole WWI name checking thing.  It is also okay to still like this album, because they’re a really good plastic pop band, and they’re churning out grade “A” futbol anthems and dance floor rave-ups.

The biggest departure on “So Much Better” is a more nationalist focus on brit-pop.  They easily quote everyone from The Beatles to Blur and back again, checking in with The Clash (of course), Bowie, Supergrass, Pulp, Stone Roses, and Suede.  If there is any style of pop music particularly well liked in the UK (ska, reggae, techno, punk, folk…) it is represented here providing a greater variety of sounds from song to song and a sort of musical tour of the Queen’s near dominion through the eyes and ears of Franz Ferdinand.

They are largely trading in their sexual ambiguity and dark fun time for sold out arena sized dance hall fun - and perhaps the wad of cash that should come with it.  But don’t worry, the band never strays far from what they do best.  There are plenty of racing high-hats, dueling guitars and “surprise, now your dancing” mid-song tempo shifts.  Don’t miss the second track “Do You Want To” before you hear its Gary Glitter-on-speed grandeur and “My Sharona” break all over the World Series or Superbowl or VW and iPod ads it’s bound to soundtrack in a minute or two.

“If we were feckless we’d be fine…” or so they say on “What You Meant.”  Franz Ferdinand might like you to believe that this is all simply meant to be a bigger brand of fun, but the guys are hardly without feck.  Everything has its place, from the playing to packaging, and there is as much art in their business as there is business in their art.  While the debut made me feel smart and sweaty - and a little guilty in a “maybe I want to come and dance with you, Michael” kind of way this time I’m just sweaty – and a little guilty, but in a “Duran Duran really was a pretty good band” kind of way.

REVIEW: New Pornographers "Twin Cinema"

Rating: 9

Let’s first make a distinction. There are musical Super Groups and there are super musical groups. A capitol “S” super group might be loosely defined as a collective of independently notable if not famous musicians who come together now and then to make music. Lower case “s” super groups might better be described as bands whose efforts reinforce the strength of the whole over the individual and whose music is super - as in awesome, great, amazing, outstanding, grand, excellent or otherwise very very good.

I have rules about capitol “S” Super Groups, rules created to protect people from the Damn Yankees. However lower case super groups are to be enjoyed and celebrated for how super they really are, and how rare.

Now that we’ve straightened out the larger issue I offer you the case of the New Pornographers. You can’t read a review, blurb or ad hyping the band without its name being preceded by the words “Canadian Super Group.” Really? I’m sure this isn’t the first time I've suffered from not having been raised in Canada, but who the fuck are John Collins and Kurt Dahle? Or Todd Fancey and Blaine Thurier? Even the band’s big names (A.C. Newman, Neko Case and Dan Bejar) aren’t among the industry’s biggest stars – though they could be soon. While it may be a stretch in my hockey-illiterate book to qualify the New Pornographers as a capitol “S” Super Group they are easily and brilliantly a super group. Awesome, great, amazing, etc.

And yes, they are Canadian. The band and most of its members hail from Vancouver, that city on the non-Montreal side of Canada. They formed in 1997 around leader Newman (The Slow Wonder) and include Case (formerly of Virginia – the actual U.S. state, not a band), Bejar (Destroyer), and the aforementioned law firm of Collins, Dahle, Fancey, & Thurier, all of whom Newman describes on the band’s website as being “ridiculously talented.” As if to prove him right the band has recorded some of the best no-frills power pop this century has seen with their 2000 debut "Mass Romantic" and the thrilling "Electric Version" in 2003. “Twin Cinema” continues their upward trajectory through the heady world of intelligent, high-energy pop while raising the creative stakes and calling on a few ghosts of rock-n-roll's past.

The album’s title track leaps out of the gates on solid, familiar footing with all pistons firing, setting high expectations and daring you to turn it up a little louder with each refrain. This is a guitar driven major chord romp for sunny days and open windows, the kind of thing that makes sugar fiends like me bounce on the balls of their feet, clap their hands and say “Weeeee!” Now that you’re hooked you are immediately given a glimpse at a new, bigger picture. Neko Case, who has completed her Wilco-esque transformation from alt-country chanteuse to alt-pop clarion, takes lead on “The Bones of an Idol.” Shades of woodsy mysticism in lines like “We're lit by a torch; As we kneel in the court of the king…” are made credible by the calm confidence in her voice and the steady march of percussion. The real reward comes hot on “Idol’s” heels with the album’s obvious and worthy first single "Use It" followed by “The Bleeding Heart Show” which starts gently enough with wistful romantic memories and ends effortlessly where the album started – a great big, richly rewarding pop anthem.

The album shifts on its feet from number to number, giving serotonin levels a chance to dip back to normal before ramping up again. While this can break the momentum it also speaks to the band’s confidence in the songs as finished entities unto themselves. By raising the curtain and introducing each track as something new they are focusing attention in the moment and showcasing the importance of different emphases within the album and, in a larger sense, within pop music. The increased cohesion with which the band plays forms a rich and interesting fabric within which various threads emerge without coming unraveled. Heavy piano chords punch through here and an accordion bleeds its way to the surface there. A few moments of uneven timing and challenging harmonies threaten to tear the stitching, but a foundation of solid group play as lead by Newman and propelled by Dahle’s drumming allows everything it’s place. Even Bejar’s vocal on “Jackie, Dressed In Cobras” seems less jarring than his previous solo efforts. Still, the guy has a weird voice, one that is most effectively used to support Newman and Case. And who is Jackie anyway (see “Mass Romantic”)? Still, let’s not forget it’s A.C.’s band and they are in top form when he is driving the bus, apparently until the wheels fall off. He takes a strong lead even when he’s not behind the mic, coalescing the group into a loose and efficient noise machine running on the strength of its members.

To their credit New Pornographers have balanced accessible, literate pop hooks with more challenging, earnest rock. It’s a sound with touchstones in late sixties and early seventies progressive and folk rock. Fleetwood Mac and Genesis keep coming to mind - bands not afraid to play up and play big with plenty of abandon, but also mindful, mature and ready to experiment. Bejar’s pinched tenor is somehow reminiscent of Peter Gabriel, Newman makes a great Lindsey Buckingham and I’ll take Neko Case over Stevie Nicks any day (heresy, I know). The more ambitious scale and structure of songs pushes them seaward from “Electric Version’s” deliciously knee-deep but briskly moving water. Their willingness to work just beyond what you expect and to touch a tender nerve without apologizing for the sentiment further links the new outing to classic albums like “Rumours.” Whether or not “Twin Cinema” proves to have the staying power of a true classic remains to be seen, but it surely stands out among its peers as a mark for which to aim and cements the band’s status as a bone fide lower case "s" super group.

REVIEW: Broken Social Scene "Broken Social Scene"

Rating: 7

Broken Social Scene's new self titled disc is a vivid example of everything that was right with avant-rock twelve years ago (Sonic Youth, Pavement) and how it is being abused today.  You could appropriately add an "overly" to anything used to describe their breakout 2003 album "You Forgot it in People" and be pretty spot-on here - (overly) dense, (overly) ambitious, (overly) rocking/atmospheric, (overly) symphonic, (overly) noisy, (overly) etc.

The collective that is Canada's Broken Social Scene (seriously, is everyone Canadian now?) has balooned up to seventeen odd members and the amount if not always the quality of sound all these people make together has multiplied accordingly.  Still fronted by Kevin Drew (Do Make Say Think) the propulsive gang of indie worshipers lets female singer Leslie Feist carry the lead from time to time and to great reward.  Drew's vocals are routinely ensconced behind layers of reverb and washed out by waves of droning guitars and keyboards, rendering most lyrics pointlessly lost and his voice a backing instrument without an obvious lead to repelace him.  But Feist cuts through the din on sparer, percusion and loop driven tracks providing some breathable air amidst the largely high-altitude, high-art constructivism in which the group seems prone to revel.

But all is not lost.  That's really just describing the first half of the album.  "Major Label Debut" quells the ruckus gently.  By track six ("Fire Eye'd Boy") a sort of clarity is achieved.  Not quite a parting of the clouds but providing a means of soaring among them.  There is never an "oh, now I get it" moment or radio-ready single, but the dense and swirling wall of sound becomes soulful, complex, and layered.  Grooves are sustained long enough to enjoy rather than being repeated and distorted into oblivion.  Shop quickly and you'll get the limited edition two disc set which includes the easily more listenable seven song EP.

REVIEW: Wolf Parade "Apologies to the Queen Mary"

Rating: 8

I pursued this disc under the impression that it was the new Arcade Fire side project I had read about.  After listening I was glad to hear them sticking to what makes their other band so great – a balanced blend of gushing emotion and the noisy abandon of joyous, collective play.  Plus it seems they’ve stitched more than a few patches from the Modest Mouse quilt onto their fabric, adding a crisp little edge of psychosis and a few bigger guitars, so yeaa!  Call it Arcade Mouse.

Turns out I had my hip Canadian bands all mixed up.  Wolf Parade may share the occasional hometown venue and borscht recipe with their pals in the Arcade Fire, but no personnel (I was thinking of Bell Orchestre - oops).  It also turns out that the Modest Mouse connection I was hearing is real since this parade is brought to you courtesy of the band’s indie-noise champion Isaac Brock who recorded some of the album (a-ha!).  I like to think of it as breaking even.

Tandem band leaders / vocalists Dan Boeckner and Spencer Krug are a good if interchangeable compliment to one another and their songs mingle well throughout the album.  The singing style splices Bowie’s high crooning wail less the less his sex appeal with mentor Brock minus much of the bile.  However at their broiling and barely intelligible peaks the closest immediate reference might be the high-pitched, antiphonal waivering chants of Native American choral singing.  And it works.  Seriously.  The playing is a little more loosely hinged than the obvious touchstones already mentioned, but they make up for fewer dynamic shifts and a more narrow dramatic range with consistently controlled cacophony and lyrical hints of wide-eyed weirdness.  Definitely recommended for fans of the Arcade Fire, Modest Mouse, Neutral Milk Hotel, etc.  Like these artists Wolf Parade came to shake and move listeners both literally and figuratively, just don't expect to be completely swept away.

NEWS: HARDLY STRICTLY BLUEGRASS 2005

Golden Gate Park, San Francisco
October 1st & 2nd

This weekend marked the 5th annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festisval, arguably the greatest music festival going and easiliy the best free one.  I attended last year and was treated to great seats for even better music with plenty of elbow room at Golden Gate Park's Speedway Meadows.  Apparently word has spread because the crowds showed up by the tens of thousands for another stellar line up of artists representing the full spectrum of americana, rock-a-billy, country, old timey, traditional and roots music.  Oh yeah, and bluegrass.

Hardly Strictly is one of those events that forces fans to make difficult choices or figure out a way around the laws of physics.  Last year you could see John Prine or Steve Earle - but not both.  This year I passed on Jimmie Dale Gilmore to see The Knitters, missed Steve Earle to see Gillian Welch & David Rawlings.  Granted it is somewhat easier to skip a set by Dolly Parton or Peter Rowan & Tony Rice when the alternative is an hour and a half with Emmylou Harris, but I'm sure you can see the problem.  After several failed attempts to be in more than one place at the same time here's what I saw...

We arrived in San Francisco a little later Saturday afternoon than expected after a necessary stop for burritos and bottled water.  Parking was crazy, our first sign that the show might be better attended than last year, but we caught a break and ended up just five blocks away.  We headed straight for the Star Stage and caught the Dry Branch Fire Squad's last bit of top-notch jug band shtick before they cleared out.  Buddy Miller was up next, sporting his usual ball cap, bushy white hair and wide array of guitars.  He played a solid set including lots of material from "Universal United House of Prayer" and was backed by drums, organ or accordion, bass and two female backing vocalists.  The relatively small crowd was then treated to a special guest appearance by Emmylou Harris who added harmony on two songs, then left the stage as casually as she had joined it.  At one point Miller bashfully admitted that it was "against [his] religion to play at the same time as Doc Watson," who was performing on another stage.  I was struck by the strength of Miller's singing voice, and of course by his playing - a balance of brute force and soulful grace.

After Buddy had taken his bow I started noticing a younger crowd filling the spaces between blankets and lawn chairs.  Lots of tattoos and greased up hair.  They've come to see The Knitters!  For those of you who don't know, The Knitters are a grass-a-billy deviation from the norm for iconic 80s punks X (John Doe, Exene Cervenka, DJ Bonebreak) with sometimes X-er and fulltime Blaster Dave Alvin.  They played an A+ set that ranged from "Rank Stranger" to "Born to Be Wild" along with songs from their eight-year-old debut as well as the new album.  John and Exene chatted on stage like an old vaudeville couple, gamefully acknowledging an over-publicized history and setting up songs with jokes.  The real revelation was Dave Alvin, who stole most of the songs with scorching riffs and an air about him that bespoke true greatness.  The guy was wearing a red neckerchief like an ascot.  Awesome.

We then attempted to change venues in order to slow things down for the night and see Gillian Welch and David Rawlings on the Arrow Stage.  The place was packed.  We ended up a few hundred yards from stage left where the noise of the crowd’s casual conversation was about equal to the amplified volume of the show.  It was hard to get into Gil’s intimate performance from that distance and the kids were getting restless so I followed Hazel to a clearing where she could chase dogs and I caught a few bars of Steve Earle and his Bluegrass Dukes from the next stage over.  Gil invited Rawlings to take lead on a song which turned out to be a charmingly languid cover of Cindy Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”  Everyone laughed.  Everyone went home.  Everyone came back the next day with at least ten of their best friends.

We got to the park Sunday around 2:30pm and heard a note or two from Guy Clark on our way in.  Tempting.  But we had learned our lesson the night before and decided to pick our closing act of choice first and set up camp there to beat the crowd.  So we proceeded to the Banjo Stage to await Ms. Emmylou.  Clearly a few other people had the same idea.  We carved out a spot on the grass for a couple blankets, stashed the strollers under the bleachers and settled in for the day.  First up was Ricky Skaggs and Kentucky Thunder who brought the traditional full-band bluegrass heat with a fair helping of doughy aw-shucks – he dedicated a song to his dearly departed Mom and thanked the good Lord a few times.

We stuck around for Ralph Stanley and his Clinch Mountain Boys, whose set was nearly identical to their performance last year right down to his band introductions and self-promotional O Brother back-patting.  But the man is an institution and I like my institutions solid if predictable.  He was in good voice and brought out all the favorites including “Man of Constant Sorrow” “O Death” and “Pretty Polly.”  Afterwards I bought a $5 t-shirt from last year's event and waited in line for Dr. Stanley to autograph it.  Up close he’s more like your grandpa than a music legend.

Amy and our friends ventured over to sneak a peak at Dolly Parton.  But by that point in the day the place was mobbed and Dolly fans weren’t budging, so they came back for Emmylou Harris.  She started about fifteen minutes late but it was more than worth the wait.  I suspected something special when I saw Buddy Miller tuning his guitar on stage before the show.  Finally the festival’s host Warren Hellman made his thank yous to the crowd and introduced the final act of the year.   Emmylou sang for more than an hour and a half, playing rhythm guitar while Buddy Miller added texture and subtle solos on lead while singing harmony for all but two songs which she performed solo.  She brought Gillian Welch and David Rawlings on for the last few songs plus an encore.  Having seen her play live it’s easy to see why so many other artists want her on their records.  Her voice is effortlessly moving and perfectly human, and her presence so captivating that I easily forgot I was missing three other great acts just a stage away.  She alone was worth the trip and the long breezy days.  I’m already looking forward to next year!

REVIEW: The Robot Ate Me "Carousel Waltz"

Rating: 9

Forget what you might imagine about bands with “robot” in their name or the implied, detached violence of mechanized chewing, swallowing, etc.  There are no cliché synthesized bleeps and burbles or industrial gnashing, grinding, chunking or clanking sounds on this record, or even any sci-fi imagery of spaceships or robots, much less robots that eat people.  There are really only two indications of what you will hear on this disc based on the band's name.

The first is derived from the matter of fact acceptance of deep personal surrender held in the words “ate me.”  While the phrase "eat me" aggressively asserts itself and seems intimately related to all things middle finger, the past tense "ate me" turns the idea on itself; it is resigned to having already happened.  It’s as if, having just been captured and consumed, the band's progenitor Ryland Bouchard is able to be reached for comment and rather than begging for a hasty and safe expulsion or describing the horror of it all or wondering at the incredible odds of there even being such a thing as a robot interested in eating people he shrugs and says “The robot ate me.”

To belabor a tedious and probably meaningless point, the second clue comes from The Flaming Lips "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots."   On the title track Wayne Coyne sings, "Oh Yoshimi, they don't believe me but you won't let those robots eat me. "  Catch that?  "Yoshimi" was released in July 2002.  Less than a year later Bouchard's band Bedroom Heroes, a more apt if obvious title for his brand of dreamy DIY pop, was replaced by The Robot Ate Me.  Coincidence?  Fifty bonus points to anyone who already guessed the Flaming Lips / Robot Ate Me comparisons don't end there.

***

The Robot Ate Me is Ryland Bouchard with help from RJ Hoffman and David Greenberg.  As is the case with so many other arty little bands this is primarily a one-man show.  Bouchard shares what seems to be a quiet but deeply intrinsic weirdness with indie icons like Jeff Mangum (Neutral Milk Hotel), Phil Elvrum (Microphones, Mt. Eerie) and the man who mixed the Kool-Aid, Wayne Coyne (Flaming Lips).  Having recently moved from sunny San Diego to not quite as sunny Anacortes, WA Bouchard has also aligned himself geographically with Elvrum, where the two even put on a “Recording Day Camp” last December at Department of Safety recording studios - where it might also be noted that Bouchard prints his own t-shirts (available for sale on their website. If you order directly from his label he's likely to include quirky extras and hand written notes.  I got a free poster and a little green army man with my order.)  I’m trying to stifle my enthusiasm for the possibility of future collaborations between the two (The Robot Ate The Microphones?  Mt. Eerie Ate Me?).  Like other things that exist only in my mind, we’ll just have to wait and see.

“Carousel Waltz” is oddly sweet and sweetly odd.  It lives in a space between the revelatory and the insular, lyrically balancing worldly if gentle proclamations and private musings in the artist’s unique short hand.  Bouchard’s lyrics invoke less overt imagery than a general sense of movement and emotion – and like so many memorable works of art, the subtle but pervasive theme is Love.

The music also moves between a simplified populist sensibility and the more quirky and introspective, allowing straightforward percussion to anchor frequent interjections by horns, accordion and Bouchard’s own tenor, which manages to be both buoyant and deadpanned throughout.  Songs glide along in playful hops and skips, lulls and lilts, giving the impression of wistful ambivalence while accumulating then diminishing momentum without letting the ride stop.  Some songs – in fact the whole album - ends up feeling a bit too short, as if, having made his point, Bouchard simply pulls the plug and lets things wind down under their own power rather than manually applying some sort of brake.

To me, this want for prolonged or more developed endings – the desire for the song or album to keep going – is either evidence of its greatest success or a source of dire frustration. Within the simple context of the music and its wealth of stripped down sentimentality any mild frustration is forgiven and ultimately outweighed by what becomes an intrinsic need to play it again.  And with songs thoughtfully sweet without being saccharine, meaningful without seeming bottomless, and light but not weightless you might as well give it another spin.  For instance I am certain that at any given moment I could eat four or five entire thin crust wood-fired tomato, basil, mozzarella pizzas with a light tomato sauce without getting bored, full, or sick.  Maybe for you it’s popcorn.  It’s the same way with “Carousel Waltz,” rewarding, enjoyable and surprisingly captivating – worthy of if not begging for repeat listening.

REVIEW: Hail Social "Hail Social"

Rating: 4.5

Without Alice Cooper there would be no KISS.  Without KISS there's no Motley Crue.  No Crue, no Poison.  My point is this: sometimes it only takes one or two artists to open the doors of both inspiration and market acceptance for generations of new artists.  Each successive act stands on the shoulders of the one who came before - often with diminishing results.  Like a human pyramid you're likely to find a slighter variety of the same creature the further you get from the foundation.

Then again, without Woody Guthrie there would be no Bob Dylan, and without Dylan... well, there are too many outstanding artists to mention.  When you start with a strong foundation there are few limits to how far or wide you can build.

Hail Social plays a more rockist version of the danceable guitar pop that's been buttering MTV's bread for the last few years.  They've got the four-on-the-floor beats and prominently snakey bassline melodies to get toes tapping, plus loud chattery guitars to add texture and keep harmony.  Singer and guitar player Dayve Hawk describes their sound on AAM as "80s roller-skating music played by a metal band."  The key to his metal reference may lie in his own voice which pushes through with a clarity and ambition seldom heard from their more-dead-panned-and-dapper-than-though contemporaries.  And you could easily supplant most of the songs into a Don Johnson or Kevin Bacon feature - you know, the part where the guy is running really fast out of some sort of frustration, or working hard at a dead end job but sees the bigger picture.

Their success in the long run will depend on the longevity of the New New Wave as led by the raft of bands currently mining 80s alt-pop and 70s disco and punk.  Without Joy Division and Bowie there wouldn't be  Franz Ferdinand and Interpol.  No Interpol, no Killers, etc...  And without those bands to define the scene Hail Social might stand out, for better or worse, as a musical anomaly or a shining example of how the kids are gonna rock - if they get a record deal at all.  It's catchy and loads of amped up fun but it feels like it's living right on the surface with little mystery or charism to invite a deeper look.

Also an easy candidate for worst album cover of the year.  Maybe ever.

REVIEW: Bear vs. Shark "Terrorhawk"

Rating: 7.5

The problem I see with the deluge of punk-lite, emo-punk or punk-pop kids are spooning up these days (ponk? - let's see if that one sticks) is just that, a lot of it feels like it's for kids, by kids. You can blame the jerks in marketing or MTV or whoever but I'm pretty sure it's not just the image, it's the content - so much coming-of-angst and three chord rocket sauce without the heft of abstract thought, time changes or dynamic shifts.

I realize I'm rapidly getting too old to listen to and write about pop music especially considering I'm not getting paid to do it, but I would like to think that there are a few remaining grown men with all the warts and scars that come with the territory willing to shred their own vocal chords and a guitar or two in the name of nothing in particular.  If redundant ponk rock is the illness then the Bear vs. Shark brand of full-grown punk may just be the cure.

As the name implies, Bear vs. Shark is muscular and aggressive.  However, while metal and punk can sometimes be all about faster, louder, harder, meaner Bear vs. Shark do not loose their sense of musicality, dynamism and harmony in pursuit of eviscerating their listeners - entirely.  Think Fugazi on a Henry Rollins trip with Doug Martsch (Built to Spill) playing really loud guitar.  It's nearly impossible to say what any of the songs are about but the sound is coarse, up front, full of blood and guts, and pimple-free - a stellar reminder of how grown ups behave when anarchy sets in.  Beautifully, epically self-destructive.

REVIEW: M. Ward "Transistor Radio"

Rating: 9

I heard this and immediately recommended it to a friend as "Dave Matthews for people who hate Dave Matthews."  This friend then confessed that he doesn't hate Dave Matthews as much as he knows he should in order to maintain any sort of cred.  He, the friend, is above suspicion and I'm not here to out anybody.  Hell I own "Under the Table and Dreaming" AND "Crash" so I'm clearly no hater myself.  However I haven't seen "Because of Winn-Dixie" yet.  My friend says Matthews is good in it though.

M. Ward gets away with doing what Matthews, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson and John Mayer (and even Gomez, a little) are doing but without sounding like one of the crowd.  Stylistically, yes, he's a guy busy being good at playing an acoustic guitar and singing the soft shoed jangle-blues.  But Ward leaves a few threads exposed which, when followed, trace back to deeper roots and branch across a wider spectrum.  I figured I'd find something to appreciate in "Transistor Radio" after reading all the kudos it has accumulated since its release but I was surprised to find myself genuinely touched.

REVIEW: Chin Up Chin Up "We Should Have Never Lived Like We Were Skyscrapers"

Rating: 4.5

Greg Duli of the Afghan Whigs / Twilight Singers may not have a great voice but he knows how to use it.  I should pull up here and mention that Duli has nothing to do with this band or the album nor does this album sound even remotely like anything Duli had a hand in, but hang with me for a second.  He (Duli) has two registers: low, the seductive and a little creepy spoken whisper; and high, the Marlon Brando wail wherein all hell and lamentations are released from his tortured soul.  A complete album of one or the other would be monotonous, the two Dulis need each other to create the simultaneous allure and danger of rock-n-roll.

Jeremy Bolen provides vocals for c.u. c.u. and his breathy sing-talking is a lot like Duli in low sans cigarettes and inuendo.  Sadly Jeremy has no high.  I'm getting this out of the way now because it's impossible not to address - the guy needs to sing these songs and he simply doesn't.  With improved vocals this album shoots up to a solid 8 in my book.  It's got all the hallmarks of today's digitally tinged indie rock done right; emotive guitars, lots of energy from the drum kit, inventive breaks and musical swells with smart sounding lyrics... just no one to deliver them in a convincing manner.  Sorry Mr. Bolen.  Awesome title, though.

REVIEW: Devendra Banhart "Cripple Crow"

Rating: 4.5

I don't think there's much disputing Devendra Banhart's status as the reigning king of freak-folk.  However the definition of the genre itself is easily up for discussion.  Afterall, one man's freak is another man's (insert adjective here).  Banhart is decidedly a freak of the smelly self-taught hippie throwback variety, and if this is the man who would be king then let "Cripple Crow" stand as his Declaration of New Bohemianess.

However hippies as a social group aren't terribly adept at making formal declarations and "Crow" proves no exception.  What seems at times to have been intended as a yellow smoke and green tea festivus remains too low-key and singer-centric to feel truly inclusive.  Much of Banhart's previous work sounds as if it might have been recorded alone in a spaceous room somewhere inside his own head.  Here he invites the whole co-op to join in with sitars, bongos, a dusty detuned piano and lots of casual background noise, though they are kept largely in supporting roles to DB's off-kilter vibrato song poetry.  A few spanish launguage numbers add a genuine sense of the exotic, but the air of maturity established by sensually rolling "R's" is trumped by an accidental goofiness and/or purposeful infantility in which he quietly revels throughout the record.

Banhart might benefit from a more expansive and collaborative process, maybe linking up with an equally freakish band (Animal Collective) or another artist who might complement and balance (Liz Janes).  As a solo folk album this isn't bad, but on a socio-musical level "Cripple Crow" plays more like Charles Manson & The Manson Family Singers than Bob Dylan & The Band or Sargent Pepper.

REVIEW: Sleater-Kinney "The Woods"

Rating: 8.5

Whatever grrrly Seattle punk politics you might associate with them do not be mistaken, Sleater-Kinney is a rock band and they're a hundred feet tall.

Skip the first track "The Fox."  Go back to it later when you're good and ready.  "Wilderness" gets things started right with swampy John Fogerty backing and a wailing Jefferson Airplane bridge.  Next comes "What's Mine Is Yours," and if you think you hear a little Robert Plant in Carrie Brownstein's voice it's probably because the whole band is channeling Zeppelin's metallic Anglo-blues right down to window rattling bass and big bad Bonham drums.

Brownstein still manages to scream more melodically and coherently in the higher registers than any of her peers.  Sleater-Kinney can sometimes come off as high strung, racing through numbers and teasing at tasty hooks without bothering to reel you in.  "The Woods" is cohesive, heavy, hearty, low-slung and brazenly confident.  Immediately catchy leads are supported with the right mix of indulgent murky abandon and flawless team work.

This isn't a rock revival, it's simply and seriously Rock done right.

REVIEW: Loretta Lynn "Van Lear Rose"

Rating: 7.5

What if you got your grandma a huge plasma screen TV, progressive scan DVD changer with 6-speaker 200 watt stereo surround sound, TiVo and a lifetime subscription to Netflix?

You know exactly what would happen.  You'd show up on Saturdays, mow half her lawn then hang out watching The Matrix while she sits smiling politely beside you.  After a few hours she'd say "How interesting" and offer you a snack.

The metaphor may be weak but I think I'm in the neighborhood.  Jack White of White Stripes glory lends his feedback friendly ear to an album of almost-instant-classics by Butcher Hollow's pride and joy.  There are so many reasons why this is a great idea - insert a classic country icon into the resurgent Americana scene, freshen up her fan-base to include tattooed hipsters and generally younger fans, breathe new life into an often predictable Grand Ole sound.  Plus it would be fun, right?  Lucky fo us it is, and it's good enough to be my pick to win Best Country Album at the Grammies this year.

The sound is generally plugged in, punched up and hung loose - what you'd expect if Jack & Meg played country riffs instead of the sonic blues.  But this isn't a Stripes album with special guest Loretta Lynn, make no mistake.  Lynn's presence in each song is commanding, as if her voice is her very identity and all else swirls inward toward her.  White and company work hard to sound as confident but neither rock'n'roll swagger nor supposed country humility can match true cultural royalty, and her's is on full display.  She delivers stirring performances of heart-strung songs that sound like they've been neatly folded in an oak chest all these years - crisp, touching, unfaded and treasured.  Some of this poignancy is driven by the spark of collaboration, the friction between new and traditional sounds justifying the project completely.  Other times, mostly when Jack sings, it is in detriment.  But the whole outweighs the parts and Loretta Lynn carries it all effortlessly.  No wonder this album made so many year-end top ten lists.

REVIEW: Of Montreal "Aldhils Arboretum"

Rating: 7.5

If I had the time and profound patience it would take I would listen through my Beatles catalog and find the track these guys pillaged for the album's opening riff just so I wouldn't have to keep wondering "what does this sound like?" every time I hear it.  Maybe you know.  You're very smart so you might.

Faulting a band for strip-mining the Fab Four's mountain of material would end all popular music as we know it so we'll set that aside.  Same goes for the Beach Boys, who are quoted here through warmly addled phrasing, harmonies and orchestration.  But really it's the Beatles.

Actually it's really really the Elephant 6; Athens, Georgia's semi-defunct independent psych-pop musicians collective / record label / state of mind.  Whlie E6 bands like The Apples In Stereo and Beulah move into bigger digs and others shrink into obscurity, Of Montreal, a notable satellite of the core organization, ably carries the standard, complete with all the hallmarks - densely instrumented production, sunny upbeat rhythms backing supposed real-life tales of the absurd, familiar stilts for influences, and of course the sound of mild halucinogens percolating in the background - all of which make for lots of listening fun.

REVIEW: The Books "Lost and Safe"

Rating: 9

Unless you possess the singularly focused mind of an idiot savant or fundementalist nutjob your thoughts (and mine) skitter and bump around, tenuously linked to a vast array of experiences by sense and memory.  Even in moments of concentration there lurk tempting tangents to far off ideas.  If we look closer at the thought process it seems less logical and efficient than dynamic, surprising and, at times, beautiful.  Listening to The Books is like hearing someone think.

"Lost and Safe" is the most musical of their albums to date and the first truly amazing album I've heard all year.  Like their previous two LPs, The Books create near minimal, surrealist sound collage from obscure spoken voice tracks and other found-sounds (creaking doors, telephones...) along with their own creations, often heaviliy digitally processed guitars, banjo, strings, percussion and singing.  Until now the band hid wizard-like behind a gossamer curtain of guest vocalists and glitched-out ambient quirck-ery.  "Lost" actually finds The Books sounding more like a band without dulling their experimental edge.  They provide their own, more prominently featured vocals and shift the compositional balance of many songs from technical form to conceptual / abstractly emotional content.  And when I say "prominently featured vocals" I mean barely audible sing-speaking of what might as well be passages from art criticism essays or 1940s sci-fi.  Still, with the change, albeit subtle, comes a stonger sense of identity both for the album and the band.

If you're starting from scratch with The Books check out the sixth track "An Animated Description of Mr. Maps" (hear it now on their website thebooksmusic.com - click "new books" then "LIVING ROOM").  What sounds like a drum kit with aluminum foil dampers perfectly pounds the speech patterns of a man as he delivers a brief monologue aptly named by the song's title.  It's one of those unbelievable "did I just hear that, is that REALLY what they're doing?" moments that has the potential to elevate an obscure genre to pop status.  Fear not, die hard art house and indie freaks, the next track "Venice" presents a news recording of Salvador Dali painting "The Lion of Venice" more or less as is.

The resonance of this album doesn't come from its considerable avante-credentials or Nick Zammuto's presence as a soft spoken frontman.  The Books reach a deeper, more active place in the mind than the area used to process other music partly because their songs are mostly made of other sounds than music, synaesthetically building harmony from things you're not sure you can hear.  The elegantly cross-associative play of samples, music and lyrics also mirrors our thoughts themselves, jumping from one to another on streams of electricity without apparent reason or warning but not without reward.  It's as if the songs conatin audible cues meant to activate a music preexistent and fully formed in our minds.  The fact that they can do anything remotely like this is pretty amazing.  That they can make it stirring, rich and relevant is brilliant.

See also The Microphones, Grandaddy, Rachel's, and the Blue Man Group

REVIEW: Tift Merritt "Tambourine"

Rating: 7

From Nashville head west on 40 to 30, still headed west, and take that to South 635.  Off that you'll want to go west some more on 20 then south again on 35.  That should pretty much getcha there, there being Austin, Texas.  It would come as no surprise to me if Tift Merritt has traveled this route many times.  Her sound balances dressed-up Tennessee swing and a dressed-down western beat-n-shuffle with a voice and heart big enough for both.

Her lyrics are smart, at times vulnerable and other times resolved, but seldom sappy.  Her voice bears the charm and confidence of someone aware of her talent but sure she'd be singing even if it came out like goose farts.  Hints of Carolina twang sweeten her sound while a little Texas road gravel gives it an appealing worn-in feel.  Songs blend traditional country motifs with a strong, consciously female perspective.  There is a hint of The Populist in big-but-not-too-big production, alluding to greater ambitions - like maybe a Grammy?  She'll have to beat "Van Leer Rose", and I don't think she will, but her kind of talent doesn't go unnoticed for long and since this is only her second album I expect we'll hear more good things from Ms. Merritt.

REVIEW: North to Glory "North to Glory"

Rating: 7.5

Never heard of them?  Join the crowd.  I found this buried in the discount bin for $2.98.  It appears to be a CDR with a nicely designed  paper label stuck on the non-player side. Very home-made.  And very good, but good luck finding it.  The only North To Glory hit online is a mention by the engineer who recorded some of the band's drum tracks in an industry chat room.

The way this works is that I tell you about them now and in five years when they're opening for U2 I get to claim legitimately that I am cooler than you. Unfortunately there is no clear sign that super stardom awaits this band, just top notch music - atmospheric, bright, and familiar without seeming derivative.  This is a ringing testament to the possibilities of home production; here' s hoping they find a label for wider release.

REVIEW: Ryan Adams "Cold Roses"

Rating: 7

Fact: Between 1995 and 1999 Ryan Adams was leader of the North Carolina alt-country band Whiskeytown, lauded early on as potentially doing for that genre what Nirvana did for theirs.

Probability: Though our understanding of time is largely limited to its seemingly linear progression we may someday be able to travel through the fourth dimension more freely.

"Cold Roses" is either Ryan Adams' sixth or eighth / ninth studio release since going it alone five years ago.  Sixth if you count "Love Is Hell" as a single entity since it has now been released as an LP as well as the original EPs Parts 1 & 2.  It is the eighth / ninth if you count actual discs of recorded material you could stuff into your player since "Cold Roses" is a two disc set and "Love Is Hell" is still confusingly available in its multiple incarnations forcing deep collectors to buy the same songs twice over three discs.  Idiots.

Oh, and I'm not counting Whiskeytown's post-breakup "Pneumonia" which is supposed to have undergone enough re-recording by Adams and producer/drummer Ethan Johns to make it a defacto Adams solo effort.

All of this bean counting is in response to the industry assumption that Adams can't write a song he won't eventually record and release.  The joke started when "Demolition," a collection of demos and rarities, was issued on the heals of "Gold."  The gag seemed sadly true when "Rock N Roll" fell on its beer swilling face while "Love Is Hell" waited in the can as Adams and his label argued the whole LP / EP issue.  Adams continues to fuel this fire with the release of “Cold Roses” as a double disc (which actually shows restraint by limiting its content to a reasonable nine tracks per disc, hardly more than “Gold's” total of sixteen) plus talk of multiple new releases this year.  I think there are supposed to be six or maybe a hundred.  It’s not clear.  What we do know is that Adam’s feels confident enough in his writing to keep up the pace, opting to not fade away at the risk of burning out an audience still wary from a spotty year or two.

If “Gold” and “Rock N Roll” were respectively piano-pop and punk-lite departures from the alt-country norm Adams established with “Heartbreaker,” then “Cold Roses” is both a slight return and something of an anachronism.  The album takes Adams back to his often romanticized, jangling North Carolina roots but rather than close the circle where his solo career started or someplace he’s been since, Adams and his new backing band The Cardinals take it back further to a sound closer to a pre-“Pneumonia” Whiskeytown.  In fact, this is the post Whiskeytown Ryan Adams everyone expected to hear then promptly forgot about after falling for the aching beauty of “Heartbreaker.”  How he got there may not be so mysterious.  Allow me to apply some pop-psychology to the situation:

Let’s say you’ve been in a relationship for four or five years and then that relationship ends. Whiskeytown.  Maybe it’s your fault, maybe it’s a combination of things.  It’s not important.  There are a few very predictable stages you are likely to pass through before achieving full recovery.  First you’ll need to settle unfinished business – return the box of things, tell your friends, move out. Pneumonia. Once the shock wears off you’ll begin feeling the pain of loss.  This may cloud your judgment, making it seem reasonable to leave phone messages full of hurtful words Adams called the band “a creative prison.”.  The adrenaline rush that accompanies anger will ebb and leave you feeling hung over.  In your loneliness you may drink.  You may also accidentally find the singular place where all the good of the past few years and all the possibilities of an unknown future intersect like overlapping shadows from stained glass. ”Heartbreaker.”  You may wallow in this wistful woeful beauty.  Your friends may stop calling you until you fucking snap out of it.  By necessity or chance you finally come around, but you are now unsure of what to do.  So much or your identity has been wrapped up in your relationship and getting over it that you don’t know who you are anymore.  You’re certainly not the person you were before.  So you move to the city and try new things.  Fun things.  Maybe even dangerous stupid things. ”Gold, ” Parker Posey, “Rock N Roll.” This kind of behavior can only go on for so long before you get tired, and when you’re tired you want to go home.  And when you are unsure of where home is because you’ve spent the last few years moving around, you go to where you came from before any of this started.  Someplace safe and comforting, and you remember how good it feels to be part of something bigger than yourself.  You contemplate getting back together with your ex. Adams floats then denies rumors of a Whiskeytown reunion in 2003. But maybe you’re ready to look for another relationship, to start something with someone new The Cardinals, something familiar but this time on your terms.  After all, people are still asking about you and your ex.  This time it’s mostly about you.

Though it is still clearly a solo album “Cold Roses” revisits the familiar feel and rural themes of his old band, even leaning on the casual harmony of backing vocalist Rachael Yamagata who wears Caitlyn Cary’s old shoes with aplomb.  Instrumentation is straightforward country, gently lush with fiddles, slide-guitar and plenty of swaying mid-tempo rock.  Even the updated flourishes call to a past full of Allman Brothers 8-tracks and early Neil Young.  There are a few crooning ballads and a genuine stomp or two, but this is largely blacktop-ready and jukebox tested, perfect for nostalgic urban transplants with a weekend to drive the back roads home.  Maybe we can go back in time for a song or two.

See also Whiskeytown and The Jayhawks "Rainy Day Music" without the CS&N fixation.

LIST: Mid-Decade Review: The 50 Best Albums of 2000-2004

I fully intended to present a mid-decade review nearer the end of this year at what I imagined to be the end of the beginning of the decade. Then I did the math and realized we're there! Plus I saw that Sylus and Pitchfork already had their halfway to 2010 spots up and thought gee, might as well. So I hemmed and hawed and thought good-n-hard on it and I came up with this here list: a Mid-Decade Review of The Best Albums released between January 1, 2000 and December 31, 2004. (The sticklers among you may notice some revisions of rankings from earlier lists - Best Albums of 2003, 2004. These have occured in full knowledge of the numeric discrepancies and with the full benefit of time and new entries...)

1. Radiohead "Kid A" 2000
2. Wilco "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" 2002
3. Gillian Welch "Time (The Revelator)" 2001
4. The Flaming Lips "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" 2002
5. Ryan Adams "Heartbreaker" 2000
6. Iron & Wine "Creek Drank the Cradle" 20027. Arcade Fire "Funeral" 2004
8. The Shins "Chutes Too Narrow" 2003
9. Secret Machines "Now Here is Nowhere" 2004
10. The Books "The Lemon of Pink" 2003
11. Queens of the Stone Age "Songs for the Deaf" 2002
12. Modest Mouse "The Moon & Antarctica" 2000
13. Liars "They Threw Us All In a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top" 2002
14. Jurassic 5 "Quality Control" 2000
15. The White Stripes "White Blood Cells" 2002
16. Bonnie 'Prince' Billy "Master and Everyone" 2003
17. God Speed, You Black Emperor! "Lift Your Skinny Fingers Like Antennas to Heaven" 2000
18. Spoon "Kill the Moonlight" 2002
19. Interpol "Turn on the Bright Lights" 2002
20. Franz Ferdinand "s/t" 2004
21. The Microphones "The Glow Pt. 2" 2001
22. A Frames "2" 2003
23. The Strokes "Is This It" 2001
24. Sufjan Stevens "Seven Swans" 2004
25. The New Pornographers "Electric Version" 2003
26. The Wrens "Meadowlands" 2003
27. My Morning Jacket "It Still Moves" 2003
28. Interpol "Antics" 2004
29. Jay Z "The Black Album" 2003
30. The Jayhawks "Rainy Day Music" 2003
31. The Black Keys "thickfreakness" 2003
32. Outkast "Speakerboxxx/The Love Below" 2003
33. Ryan Adams "Gold" 2001
34. Wilco "A Ghost Is Born" 2004
35. Sufjan Stevens "Greetings from Michigan" 2003
36. Loretta Lynn "Van Leer Rose" 2004
37. Loose Fur "s/t" 2003
38. Greg Davis "Curling Pond Woods" 2004
39. Super Furry Animals "Phantom Power" 2003
40. Iron & Wine "Our Endless Numbered Days" 2004
41. Damien Rice "O" 2003
42. The Postal Service "Give Up" 2003
43. Beck "Sea Change" 2002
44. Joe Henry "Scar" 2001
45. Modest Mouse "Good News for People Who Love Bad News" 2004
46. Norah Jones "Come Away With Me" 2002
47. Various Artists "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" soundtrack 2000
48. The Six Parts Seven "Things Shaped in Passing" 2002
49. Billy Bragg & Wilco "Mermaid Avenue Vol. II" 2000
50. Apples In Stereo "The Discovery of a World Inside the Moone" 2000

REVIEW: Damien Rice "O"

Rating: 8

Has anyone ever seen Damien Rice and Ryan Adams together?  Side by side in the same place at the same time?  I'd be curious to know.

Saying the two sound alike is the kind of understatement Rice specializes in.  At their best he and Adams are unparalleled craftsmen of the down-tempo and bittersweet.  However Adams' recent swerve into The Prolific opens a door for Rice and other urban provincials (I'm looking at you Bright Eyes) to cement their place near the top of a growing americana field.

Rice's wavering tenor cuts romantic folds from familiar cloth, draping listeners in his confidence and tying you to his point of view.  All in all this is a gorgeous piece of hushed singer-songwriting with dramatic nods to opera on "Eskimo" and tinges of jazz-lite throughout.  These flourishes as well as a consistently restrained use of violins (not fiddles) lend heartfelt ballads a polish few achieve without coming across as showy.  It was good enough to earn the young Irishman 2003's Shortlist Music Prize over everyone's darling in their big "Turn on the Bright Lights" release year and it's good enough for me.  I just hope future efforts show the same balance of candor and restraint as heard on "O" lest we end up with more drunken shouting and ubiquitous EP releases (I'm looking at you Ryan Adams).

A note: The Shortlist Music Prize may also be known by his full name, The MTV2 Shortlist Music Prize.  Shortlist understandably drops the MTV2 on most occasions in order to distance himself from his older brother's embarrassing obsession with Jessica Simpson.

More note: Not to give too much time to an artist besides the one being reviewed, but I give Ryan Adams a hard time, like so many others, because "Heartbreaker" was exactly, perfectly, beautifully that, and "Gold" very nearly lived up to its namesake as well.  I will try to have in patience what he clearly has in productivity.