Attack & Release -- The Best of Music in 2008

Well, it's that time of year again -- time to recap the year that was and celebrate (however modestly, with our five loyal readers) our official one-year anniversary. That said, here are my picks for the best music released in 2008 -- argue and enjoy them at will... -- Roberto del Sol

The Best of 2008:

1. The Black Keys – Attack and Release -- The boys from Akron, Ohio come back on their fifth LP and deliver a hammer-headed gem, a more polished, potent blend of their standard gritty blues that soars like gospel and smashes like a sledge. By now you probably know the story -- they wrote these songs for Ike Turner, whose album they were producing for his comeback, and were about to begin recording them in the studio. Then Turner died suddenly and the boys decided the songs were too good to cast aside, so kept them for their own and delivered the year's best album.

They ease into it, welcoming you in with the folksy sway of "All You Ever Wanted" before unleashing the onslaught, dropping a four-song run of sheer and utter perfection -- the incendiary guitar licks on "I Got Mine;" the concussive stomp of "Strange Times;" the sexy smolder of "Psychotic Girl;" and "Lies," which reproduces Led Zeppelin's power and prowess with half the participants. (Honestly, the entire album sounds like drummer Patrick Carney stole John Bonham's kit, with each thud of the bass drum threatening to eradicate your speaker; it's Levee-type loud and just as great.) This is Sherman's march in song, leaving only ashes and embers in its wake.

Things slow down momentarily with the album's sole misstep (and even that's a marginal call), "Remember When (Side A)," before exploding out again and continuing through another run of classics -- that song's B-side, "Same Old Thing," "So He Won't Break," and "Oceans and Streams," which nearly match the brilliance of the first half's quartet. The massacre doesn't stop until the final track, which lets us exit the album the same way we entered, with the warm embrace of "Things Ain't Like They Used to Be." (Which features lead man Dan Auerbach harmonizing with his protégé, 19-year old songstress Jessica Lea Mayfield, a nice change from all the testosterone flying around the previous hour.)

This is simply a monster rock album and everything I wanted the new Kings of Leon disc to be -- loud, muscular, and oh-so undeniable. It cements the Keys as one of the nation's top rock outfits (and best kept secrets) and captures them at their strongest. Absolute required listening...

2. The Kills – Midnight Boom -- A very close second, as I don’t think I listened to any other album on the list as much as I did this one this year, commandeering the ‘Pod for months upon its release. (Which may explain its getting edged out by the Keys – I still have OD symptoms for some of the songs, despite their brilliance, having listened to them so much.) If the Keys represent rock’s powerful, thunderous capacity, the Kills represent its sexy, gritty other half, the no-frills, fuck-me-in-the-bar-bathroom-type that will consume you and discard you for dead when they’re done without batting an eye.

This is the third full-length from these guys and it proves to be the charm, showcasing the duo's twerpy electronic percussion, sexy vocals, and thunderbolt guitars on an album that is a blitzkrieg run to the Keys’ carpet bombing campaign. Of the 13 tracks here only a handful last longer than 3 minutes, including the sultry “Black Balloon” and “Goodnight Bad Morning,” two high points on the album and its sole slow songs. The rest are laser beams through the fog, short blasts that leave nothing in their wake but the heat of their passing. Jamie Hince's guitar licks, which growl and churn like firewater in an empty stomach, are the reason you start playing guitar -- not Page-styles solos or Hendrix-esque virtuosity, but the ability to make noise like this; pure, raw power with the ability to anger the neighbors and waken the dead.

"Sour Cherry" shows them at their best -- irresistible beat, punk rock attitude, stutter lyrics, and droning guitars. It's badass, do-it-yourself stuff from the depths of the garage that was made to be listened to at high volume. (Just as the band is made to be seen live, at the shittiest dive bar you can find. I had the pleasure of doing so twice this year and it was instantly the best 15 bucks I’ve spent.) This is rock at its rawest and most irresistible – crank it up and start strutting.

3. Portishead – Third -- Hands down the best comeback this year, this one's another masterpiece of creepy, dread-ful (though in no way dreadful) music from a band long since thought dead. After 11 years in hiding, the trio of beloved Britons return with a dense, unsettling gem along the lines of their first two, full of moodiness, lush melody, and dark foreboding that earns it a place on the list in line with its title.

From the moment the crackly Portuguese voice comes in at the beginning of the album opener "Silence," you know you're in for something unique. Love them or hate them, you cannot argue that Portishead sounds like anyone else in the marketplece, and in a year of almost uniformly disconcerting news their music provides an appropriate accompaniment to the decline. Beth Gibbon's eggshell-delicate voice, Geoff Barrow's doom in outer space beats, and Adrian Utley's eerie layered guitar build until combustion time and again and leave us with an album that rewards listening to it as a whole, rather than sampling it in pieces on the 'Pod.

4. The Walkmen – You & Me -- Another pitch-perfect offering from the band of DC-cum-NY lads, these guys still do shambling hangover shanties better than anyone in the business. This one marries that day-after weariness with a sort of 1940s nostalgia (who else sings songs to men named Eugene?) that never misses, each song shining like glass in the magisterial sand dune that is the album -- impressive and solid when viewed from afar, slowly shifting waves of a million brilliant pieces when held up close.

As I said when it came out earlier this year, there's really not much to quibble with here. It's chock full of everything you expect from the band -- murky, middle of the ocean organs and shiny, echoing guitars; dreary, despondent lyrics and Hamilton Leithauser's saintly, ethereal voice splitting the exhaustion. The only time this band has misstepped in its six-year career is when it isn't their material (the Harry Nilsson cover album Pussy Cats, which was a song-for-song recreation of an album that had been forgotten for a reason) -- when they release a disc of originals under the Walkmen banner, you can expect confident, pristine execution from beginning to end. This one is pure smoldering brilliance.

5. Cold War Kids – Loyalty to Loyalty -- The shock of their debut and its uncanny polish and power may have worn off, but these boys from Cali are no worse for the wear, coming back a year later with an album that balances slow-burning blues gems with shambling guitar rockers and results in one of the year's best. Still here are the signature storytelling of the band's debut and lead singer Nathan Willett's soaring vocals -- as strong and happy a marriage as your grandparents' seventy-five years in -- and the pair have aged just as nicely.

The album draws you in with the cool opener "Against Privacy" before clobbering doubters with the emphatic one-two-three punch of "Mexican Dogs," "Every Valley is Not a Lake," and "Something is Not Right with Me." The trio marries the band's swirling guitars with dirty bar piano -- another of their trademarks -- and carries the album along until the stellar "I've Seen Enough," which has everything you want from the band -- foreboding piano, killer guitar lines, and middle finger in the sky lyrics. A great second effort from the band, solidifying their status as one to watch going forward.

6. Mates of State – Re-Arrange Us -- The beloved husband and wife duo from Lawrence, Kansas, return with their fifth full-length and an album that matches the excellence of their previous offerings (which is substantial), maybe even exceeds it. What is here, as ever, is the heartbreaking harmonization between the two – a pairing so perfect and pretty it can draw tears to the eyes (as in the stellar opener “Get Better,” which is instantly among their best songs), a fact magnified by their matrimonial status. Most couples today are lucky to even communicate effectively, let alone create something of such beauty so regularly.

What’s new, however, are the notes of discord lying beneath the shiny pop veneer. Not dire, we’re-not-gonna-make-it-type stuff, just the regular trials and tribulations that go into every relationship, let alone a marriage with children. And what results is incredibly refreshing -- a song arc of honest, adult sentiments wrapped in the bubble gum pop of our youth; cold truths in a warm, sunny embrace. Most groups would consider themselves successful to have one, maybe two songs of such unbridled beauty, pep, and honesty on an album. These guys cram them in by the fistful. Another gem from the band you can’t help love.

7. Kanye West – 808s and Heartbreak -- I know, I'm crazy, right? This was a steaming pile of Auto-Tuned "music," not worth the drivespace it consumed or the material it was printed on. (If you actually still buy CDs instead of downloading, that is.) Everybody said so. The major papers and review sites panned it, talking about the possible demise of Kanye, while the blogosphere was far more unkind.

And it is a mess. There is no monster single like "Jesus Walks" or "Gold Digger" to latch onto and get the masses dancing. (Though "Love Lockdown" comes close after it works its way into your brain.) But in a year that saw the death of his mother and the destruction of his relationship with his fiancee, his life was a mess, so any music made during that time is going to bear the marks of those wounds.

I understand the resistance. Kanye's as easy to hate as Coldplay, if not moreso. He's cocky, pompous, and brags likes it's as integral to his survival as breathing. But as any creatively minded person can tell you, misery makes the best art, and Kanye is no different. For all the past braggodocio about the material possessions -- his Louis Vuitton fetish, his cars, his houses and infinite travel itineraries -- and the resulting vapidity that was so off-putting to many critics, this one is all emotion. It cuts through all the superficiality and is Kanye at his most honest and open, his most flawed and vulnerable. And it makes for a great listen.

The panners all latched onto the immediate dreariness of the album's tone, and it is there. That's partly the Auto-tune and partly the subject matter's fault. But what lies underneath is what makes the CD brilliant and what makes Kanye so special -- what in another person's hands could come off as trite, whiny, and/or uninteresting glows in his hands. There's the irresistible tribal beats from the titular 808 drum machines; there's the slyly funny line snuck into the woe-as-me tales of heartbreak; there's the quiet "FU" attitude that's still there, albeit muted in the depression. It's the irrepressible parts of his character (some would argue persona) shining through, just as they do in each of us when in similar straits. They're just more subdued than their normal setting of 11, if you're Kanye.

What's left is an album full of songs from a guy who admittedly can't sing, unashamedly pouring his heart out like a teen taping his teary-eyed lamentations in high school; it's the battered and bruised ego maniac -- the enormous intergalactic superstar and narcissist -- taking the dents in his armor and making them shine. If you were ever curious about Kanye, but couldn't get past the materialistic arrogance and superficiality, this is your opportunity to see him at his rawest and most true.

8. Ray LaMontagne – Gossip in the Grain -- The third offering from the man from Maine (as always, a little bit Van Morrison, a little bit Iron & Wine) finds a man reinvented – and happier! – in songs that are no less beautiful than their predecessors, just a little less black than before. The tales of heartbreak and pain sung in a hushed whisper are by and large gone, but what remains are just as heartfelt and sincere. It's just that this time they're framed by a vocal power (and occasionally horns) that we haven’t heard from LaMontagne before. From the triumphant opener “You Are the Best Thing” (a perfect example of both) to the beautiful “I Still Care For You” and the playful ode to the White Stripes drummer “Meg White,” this is a great one for a relaxing Sunday morning drive.

9. Death Cab for Cutie -- Narrow Stairs -- To be honest, I initially forgot to include this one when I was going back over the year's releases for my list, and that's somewhat appropriate for how this album unfurls. It's not as immediately accessible as previous offerings like Plans, for example, and the songs don't latch onto your heart (or eviscerate it) quite as quickly. There are songs that are brilliant out of the gate, like "Twin Sized Bed," "Cath...," and the pristine opener "Bixby Canyon Bridge," but the bulk of the album takes time to reveal true nature to you.

It's like that person who you see daily for months and never think much of -- there's nothing wrong with them, per se, and you like what you've seen, but nothing captivates you or drives you to change your opinion of them as merely passable. Over time though you'll find yourself thinking about something they said or going back to them with growing frequency before you finally realize that what's in front of you is far better than you initially perceived. It was the same way with this album -- I'd catch myself thinking about a lyric or humming a melody before realizing it came from here -- and now, months later, I know this is a far better album than I'd initially believed, one that stands among their best. Songs like "You Can Do Better Than Me," "No Sunlight," and "Long Division" all have the capacity to flay once you dive under the sunny veneer and ponder the lyrics in the shadows, as does the lead single "I Will Possess Your Heart." It's another album of rich, rewarding stuff from the boys from Washington, if you give it half a chance.

And two that technically don’t count (but still ruled the ‘Pod this year):

10. Jose Gonzalez – In Our Nature -- The follow-up to his 2005 US debut, the Spanish-speaking Swede returned late last year (too late to make the 2007 list) with another album full of beautiful classically-plucked guitar and hushed vocals in songs that call to mind shades of acoustic troubadours like Elliott Smith, without the heartbreak and sadness. Gonzalez’s songs are more straightforward and uniformly resilient than someone like Smith’s, but no less beautiful when taken on their own terms. Check out gems like the driving “Down the Line” or the remake of Massive Attack’s “Teardrop” for a taste.


11. Justice – Cross -- The opening strains of “Genesis,” when the fuzzed up, ominous horns are gliding you inexorably towards the cliff of the beat’s arrival, are your only moments of doubt for what lies in store. Is this some arch movie soundtrack? A lousy Christian metal album (from the giant cross gracing its cover) or some shitty French dance album? The answer, naturally, is none of the above, but instead an undeniable debut from the protégés of Daft Punk – a danceable, infectious gem that draws more on rock’s oeuvre than their mentors, but assaults your brain just as hard. Released late last year, this one didn’t sink its claws in soon enough to make the 2007 list, but is worth knowing about nonetheless. It's place on the list is an appropriate one for an album that will obliterate your inhibitions and have you dancing around with your fist in the air and your speakers set to 11. Check out “Waters of Nazareth” for signs of the second coming and get ready to move.

A Few More Before Leaving:

One they got right:

Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago -- A beautiful, beautiful album, this one shows up on lots of the year-end lists and does so for a reason; I haven’t stopped listening to it for weeks. The album was recorded by newcomer Justin Vernon, who retreated to a cabin in the Wisconsin hinterlands (is there any other type of land up there?) for three months to mend a broken heart. What results is a hushed, lush treat and a song cycle of folk-style acoustic that will warm you over the cold winter. Check out the album’s opener “Flume” for a taste – a pitch-perfect mix of melancholy and magic that you’ll find yourself singing long after.

One they got wrong:

TV on the Radio – Dear Science -- This topped loads of the major “Best of 2008” lists and is off the mark on every one. TV have been critical darlings since their 2004 debut, with steadily diminishing returns. Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes was an indie classic, a brilliant mix of layered harmonies, electronic quirkiness, and stacked, dissonant beats, but its follow-up, Return to Cookie Mountain, was a more uneven affair. It found the band expanding its sound and ambition, striving for big name numbers and recognition, but missing the more they stretched.

Dear Science completes their reach for grandeur – the album is almost universally described as “arena-ready” in size and scope in those write-ups – but what’s left is music devoid of substance; of heart, soul, or anything that resonates on more than the basest cerebral level. This is music you know you’re supposed to like – the guys look the definition of New York cool and used to sound that way -- but it all comes across as forced. It’s manufactured hipness and feels that way, and as a result just leaves you feeling empty.


And one for the Latins:

Los Bunkers – Barrio Estacion -- The third album from the deities of Chilean pop rock, this one is another mix of irresistible surf-style rock and big pop anthems from my favorite gang of chilenos. Still not largely known outside Latin America, these guys continue to make virtually flawless pop songs that will have you singing along – or trying to -- regardless of whether you understand what they’re saying. (It's all sunbeams and unicorns, if you must know.) Check out “Nada Nuevo Bajo el Sol” for a taste of their pop prowess.

King of the Cold War -- The District Sleeps Alone

So in the span since I last appeared, the life of Sunshine has been riven with storm clouds, hence my protracted absence. In that time I got evicted from my apartment by a former close friend/landlord (while I was on the road for two months for work), my safe, cushy job reneged on a project for the ninth and final time, which made me realize I had to quit (in the midst of what is reportedly "the worst economic environment since the Depression" -- anytime they capitalize the name of an era, you know it can't be good: the Cold War, World War I/II, the Olive Garden's month-long "Under the Tuscan Sun" specials) -- all of which made me decide six and a half years of putting up with the innumerable assholes and idiots populating DC was enough, so I decided to bag everything and move back home to Chicago, with my potentially equally insane fair lady riding shotgun. Other than that, though, nothing much has happened...

All kidding aside, as a result of the tumult several tracks resonated as I was torn between the twin currents of reassimilating into life in the US (which also elected a new President in that time, shockingly enough, restoring parts of my soul as well as my belief in my fellow countryman), while simultaneously removing myself from all that I'd established in the nation's capital. Needless to say, those songs bearing lyrics of frustration, rebellion, and freedom held sway as I stomped around throwing my life into storage -- again.

Two of the biggest replays come from a pair of my favorite discoveries of recent years, the inimitable destroyers Kings of Leon and relative newcomers Cold War Kids. First up are the Kings, whose new album Only By the Night shows the boys from Tennessee continuing down the moodier, more melodic path charted on last year's Because the Times. Gone -- for better or worse -- are the wild barnburning rockers like "Molly's Chambers" and "Pistol of Fire" with frontman Caleb Followill's overtly sexual and often indecipherable lyrics. In their place are songs like the bouncy "Manhattan," the sweet-crooned "Revelry," and the cowbell-plunking "I Want You," which show the slower, more adult side of the formerly raucous lads.

This disavowal (some would say growth) from their incendiary beginnings continues to take some getting used to. While Because the Times balanced the shift with a mix of the two styles -- for every slow-burning beauty like "Knocked Up" and "Ragoo," there was a slice of fire like "Camaro" and "Black Thumbnail" -- Only By the Night is almost exclusively composed of songs from the former camp. This is not to say it's a lesser album -- offerings like "17" and "Sex on Fire," the album's lead single, manage to bridge both camps nicely -- but like an amputee bothered by the scratching of a phantom limb, it's hard to forget the band's indestructible former state.

This was the group that exploded out of Tennessee five years ago to quickly become one of the best American bands, one that could single-handedly save rock from the pop waste proliferating around it; a band that nearly outsells Coldplay in the UK (though is still virtually unknown here). To have them "mature" and settle down like this is the musical equivalent of Stephen King moving from horror to his current style of novels -- still pretty good, but not as viscerally gripping and flawless as in the past. Nevertheless, it's still worth a listen. (And an up close and personal view, if possible -- you would be foolhardy not to see these guys live; they were meant for the stage like elbow patches were for professors.) The crown may be less opulent than before, but they're still the Kings. Check out the thumping whallop of "Crawl" here:




The second half of this entry's replay recap comes from the Cold War Kids' sophomore effort, Loyalty to Loyalty. While not necessarily on par with their stellar debut last year -- if only for the fact that the shock of discovering their uncanny polish and power as newcomers is no longer there -- the album balances slow-burning blues tunes with shambling guitar rockers. In the former camp are gritty gems like "Golden Gate Jumpers," "Every Man I Fall For," and "On the Night my Love Broke Through," which couple the signature storytelling of the band's debut with lead singer Nathan Willett's soaring vocals. In the latter are propulsive hits like "Mexican Dogs," "Every Valley is Not a Lake," and "Something is Not Right with Me," which clobber doubters with an emphatic one-two-three punch after the cool opener "Against Privacy" draws you in. The trio marries the band's swirling guitars with dirty bar piano -- one of their trademarks -- and carries the album along until the dead weight of "Avalanche in B," which drags things to a halt and nearly derails the album.

Until the next track -- the stellar "I've Seen Enough," which rejuvenates the album and whose title captures my mood perfectly of late. The song is as good as anything else on the disc (close seconds include the aforementioned "Valley" and "Something is Not Right") -- foreboding piano, killer guitar lines, and middle finger in the sky lyrics -- that deserves to be played at high volume. Besides the fury of the song's tone and tenor, the lyrics struck a chord as I grappled with staying put and doing the safe thing or chomping down and making the break:

I've seen enough of nothing new
The blackest stain on history or last laugh blues
Not gonna fight, not gonna cry
Not gonna shop around
For one flag to fly
...

I've seen enough inventors age
I've covered up my face
Browbeaten shame
I've got the itch, I feel the sting
Like falling into the deepest sleep
and the telephone rings

I've seen enough...

But don't take my word for it, check it out for yourself here:




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We'll close with a trio of songs that further formed the soundtrack for my mental wranglings lately. First up is an old gem from my beloved fellow Scotsmen Belle and Sebastian, "It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career." As I grappled with the job puzzle and whether I should keep doing something I exceeded at, but hated because I was ultimately ineffective, this song kept playing in the back of my mind as a potential epitaph. I didn't have a stroke and I'm a few years north of 24, but the bit about "pulling the wool, playing the fool" dooming you to a life of misery and people backing down from a fight rang true. (As did the bit about being considered the village joke because he "drank and swore and spoke out of turn." Hopefully I got out before the fate of the poor lad in the song, who ends up dribbling spit and wetting himself by song's end.) Despite the ominous portent of the opening line, though, I knew what needed to be done. (Check out the tune here...)

Once I finally made the decision to quit, Franz Ferdinand's "I'm Your Villain" (off their equally-appropriately titled sophomore effort, You Could Have It So Much Better) served as the perfect walkout song, its chorus at the end blaring in my head as I walked out of the building for the final time. A song about being the bad guy or outsider in a relationship and defiantly deciding to leave, as the other half "prefers to be miserable instead." (And I know this was just a job, but the emotions charted in its course followed a lot of those in a relationship -- early bliss with no critiques, occasional problems that get exacerbated by one party's inaction/indifference, and the gut-wrenching decision to leave once you realize that what could or should be aren't what actually is.) Crank this one up and pogo along at the end with Sunshine and this second batch of Scots.



Last up is the Postal Service's indie dance gem "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight," which formed the final piece of the puzzle and served as the soundtrack to Big Toe and I finally putting DC in our rear-view mirror as we pulled out of town. Besides being a fun little pick-me-up, the lyric about being a stranger who explains "I'm just visiting" really hit home. Despite spending six and a half years there, DC never felt like home to me, and as a result I by and large disliked my time there. Coming from Chicago (which held my heart like a teen guards a note from a crush, jealously and unabashedly) I had never truly appreciated how important a city's people were to its overall experience. So while DC had a lot of fun things to do -- close proximity to great hiking, biking, and tubing, lots of international cuisine to enjoy, great political discussions and knowledge of world events, etc. -- the fact that its citizens were so often self-important, arrogant, and unnecessarily carnivorous pricks soured your enjoyment of these day to day things.

And so Big Toe and I decided to leave and start something new in our beloved city by the lake -- something scary (because it's uncertain), but hopefully more rewarding ultimately -- that most people don't seem to understand or care about. All they see is the safe, cushy job and that's enough for them. But those key people we left behind who get it -- and there were a few -- are the ones who will sorely be missed. I've been saying for months amidst all the madness that people have been showing their true colors -- be they managers at work or friends on the outside -- people you thought you could count on to do what they said or be there for support when you needed it. In far too many cases, they fell down on the job -- which hurt due to the surprise and sense of betrayal, but ultimately made the decision to leave easier -- but these key stalwarts were true friends and really will be missed. They'll always have a couch to sleep on in the windy city, should they decide to brave it soon. Until next time, my friends...

Soon Everybody Will Ask

Since I had a moment I thought I´d take this lazy Sunday abroad to pop in with another batch of songs to update the masses (or the five of you who actually read this thing), as life has been sort of hectic lately. Plans have been made and scattered, compromises issued and dashed, but as always, I´ll let the songs do most of the explaining.

First up is a tune for the addled, those unhappy with their quixotic endeavors. It´s a song from the Bowerbirds, a little North Carolinian trio that melds uplifting pop sentiments with accordian-laced gypsy flair, as evidenced on this track from their 2007 release, Hymns for a Dark Horse. This one gets at the frustration and despondency I´ve felt at work, with the nagging self-doubt that maybe I´m being unreasonable and making mountains out of nothing. The realization I´ve had, though, is that I´m not, and unfortunately the disenchanted far outnumber the complacent, contented, and mediocre that make up the rest of the office. I sort of picture this one being sung to those of us in the former camp by that disembodied voice at the back of our minds, like the Universe is letting us know, "no, you´re not alone, you´re in our talons now and we´re never letting go," swooping us off to safety. Check out "In Our Talons" here: (and even if the song falls flat for you, who doesn´t love videos about mantis romance?)





The next song goes out to Big Toe, who´s had a crisis of being herself lately, trying to reconcile whether the things everyone else is telling her she should do are actually right, or whether she should trust her impulses and chase down a differing path. Should she stay at the safe, comfortable job or scrap it and go to grad school overseas? Should she scrap that when it feels wrong and chase down what really has been setting her heart alight? This song provides the response, an ode to following what you feel and our belated New Year´s resolution -- to no longer feel guilty about chasing that which makes us happy and telling everyone else (no matter how wise and well-intentioned their advice) to just cram it if they don´t agree.

It´s not meant as an "FU" to the rest of the world, it´s just a realization there´s no shame in listening to our hearts and charting our own course, no matter how illogical or hard to understand it seems to others. Whit was the first to realize it and pounced on her opportunity, and that´s given me the nudge I need to do the same, despite the chorus of naysayers and second-guessing that´s sure to come. Some opportunities present themselves to you and you have to be ready to grab them, like she did; others you can plot and scheme your way towards, following the societally-approved notion of waiting for the chickens you´ve hatched to come home to roost like I have and then pounce. Problem is, sometimes doing all the "right" things doesn´t pan out and you end up, five years later, no closer to what you wanted.

And that´s the beauty of what the last ten years have taught me -- a hard won, but deeply ingrained lesson from an oftentimes painful span: there is another way. It´s a simple, yet scary truth -- damn what everyone tells you about being patient and waiting to see what happens and take a chance; life´s too short to sit around waiting. Some opportunities present themselves, some require patience and a healthy gestation period, others need to be created. And so that´s what we´re doing -- we´re taking a flying leap off this skyscraper and making our own opportunity, hoping to the heavens we land on our feet again.

This case proves the exception to the old adage of age before beauty -- like I said before, Whit figured this stuff out first -- and this song´s a little homage to drowning out the doubters and listening to your instincts. The lyrics are spot on and hint at exactly why she´s so wonderful:

I know you're making, accidents and stars for everyone

You're amazing, half of them won't know until you're gone

And in this ritual you take command and lose control

And in this situation find an ocean, sell your soul

*

And when it's later, open up your window just in case

You're a radar built to scan the deeps of outer space

And if you recognize subtle patterns in the sky

Don't take it as a sign unless it eases your mind

Why don't you fly around my pretty little miss...

It´s a beautiful little ditty from those old favorites Built to Spill, "Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss." (I couldn´t find a version of the studio recording, so we´ll have to make due with this live version -- disculpa...)





Finally, we´ve got another track off Death Cab´s latest release, the ever solid Narrow Stairs, that echoes the refrains from above -- of not settling for someone else´s vision of how your life should be, of being brave (or stupid) enough to do that which others only pay lip service to, and to making the changes that will leave people saying the song´s chorus (and the end part of this post´s title). Check out "Cath..." here:



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We´ll actually throw one last thing in here before the buzzer, closing as we often do with one from the great Elliott Smith. It´s a song that´s all for/about me and sums up my sentiments of late perfectly, hitting at both the frustration and confusion and the furious refusal to accept things as they are. As always, Elliott says it best, so give the lyrics a listen here: (and enjoy the weirdest fan video for an Elliott video I´ve seen yet, which was too strange not to put up...)




Until next time, my friends... --RdS

Once More Before the Lull

Decided to squeak one more in under the wire before I leave tomorrow, so you kids have something to satisfy that musical hunger chawin' away at yer insides while I'm gone. This week's story is simplicity, which I wanted to highlight through three excellent EPs that translated into merely mediocre full-length debuts.

First up is Voxtrot, the little band from Austin that was the Belle (& Sebastian) of the blogosphere for their similarities to said band on their first two EPs -- the pitch-perfect Raised by Wolves and its solid follow-on Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives, Your Biggest Fan -- before dropping their full-length last year. And up until that point, the praise was warranted -- there was a joyfulness and innocence on those first two EPs that was very much reminiscent of Belle & Co., right down to lead singer Ramesh Srivastava's fey (and faux) British accent and cutesy lyrics of love and loss. But it wasn't mere aping, devoid of passion or creativity -- the emotion and exuberance were there, and the band delivered a blast of pure Britpop that was all the more powerful for each of the EPs' short five-song duration. It was short, simple, and irresistible.

On the full-length debut, though, it seems like the pressure got the better of them and they began fussing with things too much -- the emotion feels constrained, the production feels hackneyed, and the overall experience is one of slightly overwrought desperation; the overly earnest kid in school who tries just a little too hard to be liked. Which is not to say it's all bad -- there are moments that capture the old fire, such as the delicate opener "Introduction," the jaunty "Stephen," and the pure gem "Kid Gloves" -- but overall they fall far short of their earlier efforts.

As a result, we'll just have to luxuriate in the brilliance of those first two offerings. And to be honest, Wolves is as close to perfection as you can over the course of five songs -- the bouncy title track, the sing-along chorus of "Missing Pieces," and the stately beauty of "Long Haul." All make for an exuberant half-hour, but none moreso than the following, the pristine "The Start of Something," which is just a purely perfect pop song. Enjoy it here (with an unintentionally hilarious fan video by Nina):





The second faulty EP-to-LP conversion comes from Syracuse's Ra Ra Riot, who sound something like the Shins with a string section, almost as if they talked Andrew Bird into dropping by the studio with a cello and violin. Their self-titled 2007 EP was a rush -- from the smoldering "Ghosts under Rocks" to the aptly imposing "Everest" and the sweet lovenote "Can you Tell," it was a rollicking good listen. (Which could explain why four of its six songs show up on the full-length.) While recording the debut, though, their drummer drowned and it seems like that weight -- naturally so -- bogged down their finishing the project.

Which is probably why what's left feels sort of rushed -- the new material seems not fully formed (two exceptions being "Oh, La" and "St. Peter's Day Festival," which capture the magic of their first release) and the strongest songs by far are the ones that already appeared on the EP -- sort of like the band just wanted to get out of the studio and put something out on the street. Not that that's a bad thing (or that you can blame them) -- with 75% of their EP showing up and the couple of new songs that pass muster you've still got a pretty decent ten-song debut, it's just not the fully-formed blast you were hoping for. Check out the best thing on both of them, the shuffling bounce of "Dying is Fine." (And are those the dudes from the Rembrandts?! Looks like THEEEEEY walked...five...hun...dred...miles right into the Riot's video...)





Last up is Jets Overhead, a nifty band from Canada who deliver both the best debut AND, more importantly, all their music for free on their website so you can see whether they're your cup of tea or not with no penalty. Sounding like a cross between the fuzzed up rock of early, not-yet-crazy Dandy Warhols and the reverbed harmonizing of the Vines, these guys make the transition from a raw, sparse EP to a more polished and refined full-length without suffering some of the same pitfalls as the aforementioned bands.

There are a couple songs that don't quite get off the ground (or jets that don't quite get overhead, if you will), but on the whole it's a solid appearance on everyone's radar screen. "Killing Time," "Shadow Knows," and "Seems so Far" all swoop confidently out of the speakers, while down-tempo tracks like the titular "Bridges" help balance out the attack. And you have to respect a band confident enough to put all their music out for free. (Before Radiohead and Nails got all the ink for doing so.)

As mentioned in the lead, the key to all three of these write-ups is simplicity -- in trusting your instincts and releasing the music that's nearest to your heart, while blocking out the chorus of voices second guessing your every move. This isn't to say there aren't alternate ways of doing these things or suggestions that may yield a better, more refined product, but in at least two of these cases it seems the early innocence, exuberance, and confidence got muffled in a sea of nay-saying and turned into something it shouldn't really have been. I guess the moral is to trust your gut and trust what got you where you are, and not treat every newcomer's word that you pick up along the way as gospel. So check out the sampling of at least one band who did just that and check out this track off their EP, the Kinks-y guitar riffed "Addiction" here:




Until next time, my friends -- see you in a couple months...

--RdS

Modern Guilt, For You & Me

Well, since I'm about to disappear for several months I wanted to pop in to give a brief recap of two discs that have been getting solid playback on the 'Pod of late. First up is Beck's latest, Modern Guilt, his tenth full-length (and if THAT doesn't make you feel old, fair readers, for those of us who remember his big label debut in '94 with the "Loser" wave, I don't know what will) produced with the red-hot Danger Mouse. What results is an album that brings the best out of both parties while continuing their recent explorations and creative growth.

Front and center are Beck's dreary, mush-mouthed mumble and Mouse's quirky (and irresistible) percussion -- two of their respective signatures -- while Beck continues to move away from his nonsense lyrics of old, delivering a bleaker batch of meditations that's more in line with the drained sentiments of Sea Change than the hipster doofus of Guero or The Information. Mouse echoes these efforts as he continues to flesh out his marriage of driving beats and sweeping orchestration, delving deeper into the 60's-era sound he first experimented with in the Beatles--Jay-Z mashup, The Gray Album, and continued in this year's Gnarls Barkley effort, The Odd Couple. And the album shines as a result. Both parties seem to have realized that oddity with no emotion yields a far more perishable product -- pure pop confection, like aural cotton candy; more volume than actual substance -- and instead sought to resonate in the listener's heart and mind.

What's left behind is a batch of extremely strong songs -- the fuzzed out strut of "Soul of a Man," the go-go pop of "Gamma Ray," the psychedelic-twinged opener "Orphans," and the driving rock of "Profanity Prayers." All sound like little slices of 60's heaven, depending on the particular vantage point, and that breadth makes a far more lasting impact upon repeated listening. Overall, though, nothing packs a bigger punch than the album's closer, the slow-burning gem "Volcano," which is the perfect realization of everything mentioned above -- the shuffling beat and emotional sweep, the kicked-to-the-curb lyrics and delivery, the little idiosyncratic flourishes. It's hands down the best thing on the album and an appropriate reflection of everything that preceded it -- solid, from head to toe. Check it out here:





The other CD of note is The Walkmen's latest, You & Me, another smoldering classic from this band of DC-cum-NY misfits. Following close on the heels of 2006's A Hundred Miles Off, there's really not much to quibble with here. (Or there, for that matter.) It's chock full of everything you expect from the guys -- murky, middle of the ocean organs and echoey guitars, dreary, despondent lyrics, all juxtaposed with Hamilton Leithauser's saintly, ethereal voice, a voice so heavenly it could raise the dead and make them give thanks for disturbing their eternal sleep. There's no panicked experimentation or need to raze everything in order to justify their credibility, just confident, defiant execution from beginning to end.

From the stately "Donde Esta la Playa" to the shambling "If Only It Were True," you're grabbed from the outset and know exactly where you're heading from the album's first line -- "It's back to the bad old days..." What lies in between is a mix of beautifully moody music that improves with every listen -- the building power of "On the Water" and "Postcards from Tiny Islands," the 4-in-the-morning weariness of "Red Moon" and "Long Time Ahead of Us." The album is pure smoldering brilliance, epitomized by this track midway through, "Canadian Girl," which encapsulates everything said above. Try to resist its siren song, if you will.




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And since I'm leaving for awhile, we'll close with two tunes from Sunshine Radio that give an update on its owner's mood lately. First up is this track from the aforementioned Walkmen gem, A Hundred Miles Off, which effectively sums up my feelings of work these days. Pretty self-explanatory. Suffice it to say it's been getting HEAVY play in the rotation this week...




Second is a track from my beloved Mates of State that serves as a little FU to those around me who continually assume I'm more like the song's subject than someone with a valid explanation for my disdain for things right now. Be it towards work, my "home" life, or being stuck in DC in general, the initial assumption people seem to have is that I'm being unreasonable -- a rash, impetuous baby -- rather than someone rationally responding to events. But what do I know, they're probably right. Actions don't seem to matter much around here, and neither does how you treat people -- it's all about the here and now and how you can spin things.

Past events are irrelevant, as are patterns of behavior and performance. What matters is the immediate present. That way everyone is equal and there are no previous or future considerations to get bogged down in. Fool (or fuck) me once, no big deal because you've never done it before and would never do it again, right? Wipe the slate clean and move on. Next time it happens, it's the exact same -- first time's a freebie, but don't let it happen again. And so on. 1 + 1 = 1 Whatever. I'm the asshole, and we're all the same. I get it...

Lolla and Leaving

Finally back from a grand week's vacation that included Lolla and getting locked out for nearly a week (who says church isn't fun?) and while this year's incarnation wasn't as explosive a good time as last year's, thanks to muffled sound on certain key acts and unnecessarily cruel scheduling conflicts, it was still a blast. Some highlights were sitting watching Mates of State with my lady, drinking ice cold white wine while the sun set behind the skyline backdrop, Jeff Tweedy playing an acoustic set at the kid's tent, and finally getting to see the National live. All were great, as was Gogol Bordello, who are absolutely batshit insane live -- go-go dancers, whistles and screams, drummers with Indian headdresses and shirtless Ukrainian lead singers with spectacular mustaches running around in a whirl -- they hands down win the award for most entertaining act caught over the weekend, and are an absolute must to see live. (So keep your eyes peeled for when they're coming to your neck of the woods.)

One nice discovery was Rogue Wave from the Bay Area in California, who sound a little like Band of Horses live -- beautiful melodies, plinking treble guitar lines, and the soaring voice of lead singer Zach Rogue. Really cool stuff -- check out the tune Lake Michigan off their newest album here:




The main thing occupying my time since my return has been Whit's departure to Spain for a year, which has naturally left me in a state without my best friend at my side. As a result, the tunes captivating my ears have been ones that resonate in the ole ticker, part sadness, part soaring hope, and I'll leave you with a little medley in case you find yourself in similar straits. First up is a little acoustic ditty from Bright Eyes from a couple years back, Lua. It's a simple melody (believe me -- I've been playing it on guitar endlessly lately) with beautiful melancholy lyrics and Conor Oberst's hushed vocals -- perfect for those bruised moments where a soft whisper's all you can muster.




Next is another track off the new Coldplay album -- I'm telling you, I want to hate them as much as everyone else, but there are just some damned good songs on there, no matter how annoying Chris Martin is with his British whine and faux-militaristic garb. This one's part of a great run at the end of the album and has all you could ever want from the band -- pretty guitar lines, resonant lyrics, and Martin's soothing croon. Its soaring emotion helps you off the canvas a little bit and convinces you that things just might not be that bad after all.




The final track in this medley is an old Decemberists favorite of mine, As I Rise, a song that completes the cycle from bludgeoned despair to buoyant hope and the certainty that things are going to be just fine. This one is pure prettiness -- Colin Meloy's voice and lyrics, finger-picked banjos and guitars, and an old saloon piano shuffling along in the background. Turn this one up and sing along, for things truly will be just fine -- la di dah, la dah...

Three's Company

Lyrics are the key this week -- per usual -- to deciphering my mood and life of late. In the midst of some trying times at work, my 15th move the last 10 years, and the stressors that come from these and other arenas flavoring my limited free time with the metallic tang of tension, I've been a bit frayed recently, to say the least. But the songs have kept me steady, and say it better than I , so we'll jump right in with a nice little threesome to buoy any flagging spirits in the dog days of summer.

The first song speaks to the work front, and is off Coldplay's latest disc, Viva La Vida. (Stop groaning.) It's actually a two-fer, a little double bill halfway through the album, showcasing the strengths of the band of old and not the vanilla corporate leviathan of their last album. The front half of this one (and the bulk of the new disc, for that matter) captures a bit of the emotion and energy of early U2, all rollicking guitar and bright piano lines, while harnessing frontman Chris Martin's soaring croon to keep things together.

The back half slows things down and showcases the band's other side, the introspective, piano-laden portion that garners the band so much enmity and ridicule. (I can hear all you 40-year Old Virgin fans now asking the monitor, "You know how I know you're gay?") And while they may have leaned a little too far to this side on their last outing -- the dismally uneven X&Y -- sacrificing strong lyrics and melody for mere mood, this is what made their debut so great to begin with. (And still makes it their best album, by far.) For every "Yellow" to get the blood pumping there were two or three others to calm things down -- "Spies," "Sparks," and "Trouble," for example -- that were actually better than the uptempo numbers. And this song is a perfect balance between the two sides -- beautiful melody, haunting, swirling piano, Martin's voice drawing you in -- and a perfect return to form. Check out "Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love" here:




The second song speaks to my difficulties moving, uprooting myself after three years of living in my perfect (yet prohibitively expensive) little bachelor pad, and this track off Death Cab for Cutie's latest, Narrow Stairs, captures the angst and prettiness nicely. It's about the difficulties of letting go -- of things, of the past, of ideas of what could/should be -- and forcing yourself to move on. It's textbook Death Cab -- smart lyrics, lovely melody, and Ben Gibbard's otherworldly voice, one so warm and inviting it could bring a smile to your lips even if extolling a double homicide. (Or a stalker, as in the lead single.) Honestly, the entire album's like that -- just another solid effort for the boys from Washington. Check out "Your New Twin Sized Bed" here:




The last song covers my private life and its decreasing amounts of free time, represented by an old track off the first Gorillaz disc, the self-titled Gorillaz. This one kept popping up on the 'pod lately and seemed apropos, if for nothing else than to give my answer to what should be an obviously rhetorical question -- "Stereo? I want it on." There's not much else to say here -- this one's just got a sick beat, creepy little melody, and Damon Albarn's classic mopey whine, with a cool little video to boot. What more do you want from a bumping summer song?




That's all for this one -- until next time, my friends...

How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying

No big post this week, as I may have officially reached the end of my tether. My mood can be summed up in three lines, three songs, and the three lessons they reveal:

Average is an asset,
Enthusiasm is dangerous,
And appreciation is an artifact bestowed on the mediocre.

* Don't kid yourself -- you're exactly like everybody else.

Special bonus lessons:

Less is more,
Only do the right thing if it's the cost-free, convenient option,
And remember -- the meek will inherit everything; it's the fast-track to a life of ease.

* Effort + Action + Logic = (Recognition x Appreciation x Success) / 0

The end.

--RdS










* I shall be free...

Flying Sugar Cubes from Japan

What: Cornelius
Where: Japan
What Else: Rock, Roll, Trance, Jazz, Drums
Why: Most Incredible Music Videos
Why Else: Unbelievable *LIVE*

--> Look them up.

MGMT

Ok, this will be short and sweet. My first contribution, sans any real analysis or commentary. Just three words:

"Enjoy this band."

MGMT. They will make you want to jump up and dance as summer begins.

Shut Your Cornhole: You Are What You Eat (And Drink, And Bathe With...)

Ciao, panas! After the all-out pace of the last couple months, the special project at work is drawing to a close (el fin de la super-fiesta en el sotano, como decimos), so that, coupled with the better half being off traveling the next few weeks, gave me the opportunity to finish the book I'd been pecking away at the last month or two, the phenomenal Omnivore's Dilemma. Written by Michael Pollan, this one deals with the inordinate problems plaguing our food industry and our equally harmful patterns of eating, which has led to sick animals and fallow fields in the former (requiring increasing amounts of medication and harmful fertilizers to counter the effects), and a wave of obesity and diabetes in consumers in the latter.

Pollan draws the root of the problem to a single source, one that permeates virtually everything we put onto or into our bodies: corn. It shows up in the meat we eat (as all mass-produced meat survives almost exclusively on its golden nuggets), our soft drinks (high-fructose corn syrup), our snack foods (a range of corn-based additives, flavorings, and preservatives), as well as our shampoos, cosmetics, and lotions. (A similar spread of additives and stabilizers culled from those yellow logs of happiness.) All of this, not to mention its most obvious and natural incarnations -- on the cob or in kernel form -- eaten by the truckload by Midwesterners like me. (We were given whole cobs of corn to suck on instead of pacifiers when we were kids.)

This monocultural saturation is obviously not natural -- cows are no more supposed to eat corn than humans are to eat dirt -- but due to an overabundance of the one, the biological predispositions of the other are overthrown in order to accommodate the excess. The problem that built this mountain of corn comes from two events, according to Pollan -- the move to trading corn as an anonymous mass quantity -- as a commodity -- rather than a specific good tied to a particular farmer, and the direct cash subsidization of farmers for corn they couldn't sell rather than just floating them temporary loans for what the market couldn't sustain.

Previously, farmers would sell their corn in giant sacks that were labeled based on their provenance -- Jesper's Field of (Corn) Dreams, or something like that --which meant that the product always had someone to answer for it; always had someone accountable for any problems that might arise. This bred a farming culture where quality was prized over quantity since the corn you bought was always traceable back to a specific individual, from the pasture to the plate. However, when the government began treating the farmers' wares as a commodity and lumping them into anonymous pools, it let quality control fall and encouraged a mindset of quantity over all else. (The reason corn became such a lucrative crop in the first place is because it is simply the single most efficient converter of solar energy into a vendable good around, yielding more product per acre with the least inputs and maintenance.)

Similarly, in earlier periods of hardship or unforeseen surpluses -- due to a drop in the market, lower yields, bad weather, etc. -- the government would bail the farmer out by issuing them a loan until the market recovered -- demand rose, yields jumped, the weather changed -- at which point they could sell their surpluses and pay back their debt. However, in the 60s and 70s the government shifted towards direct cash payments for all unsold surpluses (making them the proud owners of an unwanted commodity). By doing so, rather than temporarily sustaining the farmers through the downturn in the market, the government removed all reason for them to think about what they were producing and just produce at all costs -- the money was going to come anyway. Therefore the massive surpluses created by these farmers -- who no longer acted like traditional businessmen because they no longer feared having more supply than demand -- pushed the move to corn-fed meat and the start of the downward spiral.

For as Pollan describes, something had to be done with the corn -- it's what led to its being force-fed to animals who naturally survive on grasses (causing their need for medication as their systems rejected the unnatural diet) and the array of processed goods chemical wizardry allowed it to be added to. But part of the problem lies in the nature of the food industry itself -- there is a limit to how much humans can physically consume. As Pollan explains,

"The farm, being vulnerable to the vicissitudes of weather and pests, is prone to crises of over- and under-production, both of which can hurt business. Rising material prices cut into profits, obviously enough. Y et the potential boon of falling raw material prices -- which should allow you to sell a lot more of your product at a lower price -- can't be realized in the case of food because of the special nature of your consumer, who can only eat so much food, no matter how cheap it gets."

This leaves the food companies two options: figure out how to get people to spend more money for the same three-quarters of a ton of food (the average amount consumed each year), or entice them to actually eat more than that, which -- as has become abundantly clear in this country lately -- are not necessarily mutually exclusive. As explained in an interesting write-up of some similarly-themed books in The New Yorker a few weeks back,

"The food business once lamented what it called the problem of the 'fixed stomach' -- it appeared that demand for food, unlike other products, was inelastic, the amount fixed by the dimensions of the stomach itself, the variety constrained by tradition and habit. In the past few decades, however, American and European stomachs have become as elastic as balloons, and, with the newly prosperous Chinese and Indians switching to Western diets, much of the rest of the world is following suit."

This leads to a range of health problems, such as diabetes and obesity, as mentioned earlier, whose deleterious effects "must be worn on our bodies," often making us "miserable, and ill, but medical advances mean that it takes a long time to kill us, so we keep on eating."

Pollan explores the alternative to the mass-produced food chain -- the burgeoning behemoth that is the organic industry -- and details both its excesses (through its industrialization, which has led to a hybridization of the two options, mass-produced monocultures and small-scale multicultures) and its exemplars (sustainable multi-crop farms that follow the natural life cycle of its components. These latter farms -- epitomized by the case of Polyface Farms and its resident wizard Joel Salatin in rural Virginia -- are more labor-intensive than the streamlined, assembly-line approach of the big industrial farms, but because they more closely mimic the patterns of nature itself, the environmental impact is diminished and the end product is better.

These chapters were a revelation, as Salatin explained how things are supposed to work on a farm, with each piece playing a key role that furthers the life of the farm and allows its component parts to realize their most fundamental desires. Cows graze the grass, taking it down enough for the chickens who come by afterward, who eat the grass down more and pick insects and parasites out of the cow patties, which would otherwise harm the grass. These patties fertilize the soil (and can be used on other crops), which enables the grass to grow back up for the cows, who meander around and take it down enough for the chickens, who come by again and eat it down more. And so on and so forth.

There are a million other parts to this process that I'm leaving out (rotating the acres grazed, rotating crops on the acres), but this is the essence of the approach, and one that's fascinating in its own right in comparison to how we've surreptitiously moved to getting our food. The farm doesn't need the harmful fertilizers for its crops or medicines for its livestock that the industrial farms do because everything is healthy; everything is in balance. Pigs are allowed to be pigs, cows are allowed to be cows, chickens are allowed to be chickens. (Meaning they eat what they are supposed to -- that which they are biologically predisposed to, not what we're forcing them to -- and are happier/healthier as a result.) It is completely sustainable and natural and leads to a better product because of it.

Anyway, I've rambled on long enough. It's a fascinating book, obviously one of the best I've read in recent years, and it will change the way you think about what (and how) you eat. Normally I can plow through a book in a week or two without blinking, but this one forces you to slow down and grapple with what Pollan is saying, because it has such pertinence to your daily life. After all, what is more fundamental to your being than the food you eat? This one will make you reevaluate what you put in your mouth and challenge your philosophy of health and well-being, and as such it is not something to be rushed (or missed). Great stuff.

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As for the tunes of the week, this double dip starts with a track off Portishead's long awaited new album, Third. It's a great return to form after 11 years in hiding, a dense, slightly unsettling gem along the lines of their first two, full of moodiness, lush melody, and dark foreboding. This track, "We Carry On," highlights the band at its best, mixing Beth Gibbon's delicate, echoey voice, Geoff Barrow's propulsive beats, and Adrian Utley's smoldering guitar in layers that build until combustion halfway through. The rest of the album charts a similar path, growing in intricacy and power until they erupt with this week's track halfway through the album. From the moment the crackly Portuguese voice comes in at the beginning of "Silence," you're hooked. After that it's the growling, disconcerting guitar of "Hunter," the tribal rhythms of "Nylon Smile," the cool arpeggios of "The Rip," and the cataclysmic electronic swirls of "Plastic" that pull you into the explosive "We Carry On." The back half of the album continues the tense excellence, with the old-timey backing vocals of "Deep Water" and the undeniable single, "Machine Gun," representing two more high points. It's a great album, one that's rewards listening to it as a whole, rather than sampling it on the Pod on shuffle. Check out the video for the aforementioned gem here:



The back half of this sonic dip in the pool calms things down a bit, an overlooked track from my beloved National -- "About Today" -- off their 2004 Cherry Tree EP. The song is the band's traditional closer in concert, and sure enough a live version shows up on the recently released Virginia EP, a must-have accompaniment to the documentary, A Skin, A Night, that shows the band trying to record what would become their masterful Boxer, one of the best albums of last year. (And one of my all-time faves of recent years, an album that borders on obsession for me.) There's not much I can say about these guys that I haven't before, but if you're new to the group, this song's a perfect representation of what they do so well. Whether it's Bryan Devendorf's thumping rhythm, Matt Berninger's baritone and melancholy lyrics, the swirling viola and guitar, the band charts the waters between beautiful melody and sad sentiment without sacrificing either component and overpowering the emotion. A wonderful band that's really come into their own the last few years, I can't wait to see them this summer back home on the lake. Check out the tune here:

One You Should Know: Kings of Leon

Roaring out your speakers from the little town o' Nashville come the Followill clan -- three brothers and one cousin -- set to save old-fashioned rawk and roll, one deadly shotgun song blast at a time. Looking like set extras from a 1970s TV movie, all long hair, skinny mustaches, and skinnier jeans, the boys sound like a Southern-style cross between the Strokes' sharp twin guitar assault and Skynyrd's barroom drawl and swagger. Truthfully, though, there is only one way to describe the Kings -- they fucking rock. HARD. And they do it so completely and unabashedly it's amazing they've only been around for a shade under five years.

Despite their relative nascence, the Followills have so thoroughly destroyed almost all other rock offerings in that span that it's virtually criminal how unknown they remain here at home. (Their reception in the UK has been much like that of their aforementioned NY brethren, which borders on deification.) But don't let the obscurity or meager sales numbers fool you -- the quality is absolutely unparalleled.

The band touches something primal within, to the point you lose all composure or restraint while listening to them. (And don't give a damn while doing so.) It's like a tent revival -- wild hand claps, pistoning arms and legs, an almost total loss of control and inhibition. (Which hearkens to the boys' similar upbringing, traveling the country with their evangelist pa.) You'll find yourself singing along to songs you don't know the words to, aping Caleb's mumbled slurs and cocksure swagger while throwing rawk signs and bobbing your head like the baddest hombre you can conjure.

Half the time you wonder if Caleb knows what he's saying, but at the end of the day that's not what the music is about. (Even when you do figure out the lyrics, they often don't make any sense, but ultimately that doesn't matter. I've listened to "Wasted Time" and "Spiral Staircase" umpteen gajillion times and still don't know what the fuck he's talking about, but I'll be damned if that stops me from squawking along at high volume every time they come on.) It's all about the attitude -- these songs bleed it, and you will too. (To varying degrees of success...)

It doesn't matter where you are -- at the cube at work, driving in the car, or walking around in public with the Pod -- you'll be convulsing like a born-again when you hear them and just won't care. You'll know you look stupid (and will likely get your share of befuddled looks from coworkers and strangers as a result), but won't be able to help yourself -- it's utterly irresistible.

I first caught these guys live at Lollapalooza last summer and have been a fervent acolyte ever since. (Hell, you KNOW they're good when EdVed comes out on stage to rock along with them. That's one hell of a stamp of approval...) The songs below represent the best tunes off their first three albums and are a sonic freight train, hitting with every bit of impact that locomotor implies.

The tracklist below starts out with the first three tracks off their 2003 debut, Youth and Young Manhood -- "Red Morning Light," "Happy Alone," and "Wasted Time," as good a 1-2-3 combo as any band can hope to have, let alone a bunch of newcomers -- and continues midway through with another undeniable triple play off their 2005 sophomore effort, Aha Shake Heartbreak. ("King of the Rodeo," "Taper Jean Girl," and "Pistol of Fire.") All the songs off these first two albums are rapid-fire assaults, with all but two clocking in at three minutes or less. It isn't until their third album, 2007's Because of the Times, that the boys stretch things out and loosen up a little, culminating in the sprawling gem "Knocked Up." (The first track off that album, the closer here.)

There are songs of pure perfection here, songs I could listen to dozens of times (and do) with no depreciation in quality or impact. "Genius," "Soft," and "Happy Alone" are every bit as good now as they were the first time I heard them and will have you shouting nonsensical lyrics with pure relish and abandon. ("I'll be prancing around in my hiiiiigh heeels, yo' cherry red liiiipstiiiick, look out yo' window, I'm on yo' streeeeet..." "Yo' coo-coo-coo-creepin', creepin' undahneath mah skeeeen. Fuck you and yo' flashbulbs, takin' mah pick-cha again..." "Oh ya paint mah fingahs and ya paint mah toes, ya let yo' perfect nip-pulls shoooooow!") "The Bucket," "Black Thumbnail," and "Ragoo" are blissful, shimmery jubilation, and songs like "Camaro" and "Pistol of Fire" are meant to be blared from a car stereo charging down the highway at 100mph.

So load up the Itunes and get ready to roll -- the Kings are about to show you how it's done.


Kings of Leon:

1. Red Morning Light
2. Happy Alone
3. Wasted Time
4. Molly's Chambers
5. Spiral Staircase
6. Genius
7. Holy Roller Novocaine
8. King of the Rodeo
9. Taper Jean Girl
10. Pistol of Fire
11. Razz
12. Soft
13. The Bucket
14. Ragoo
15. Black Thumbnail
16. My Party
17. Camaro
18. Knocked Up

Who Likes To Rock The Party?

As much as it must break Bret and Jemaine's hearts (a reference to the Kiwi-duo Flight of the Conchords for those who have thus far avoided this addictive habit), I've recently fallen for the group of Aussies behind Cut Copy. Watch out all you ladies with your babies shakin' their booties: these guys most definitely know how to rock the party, even if they are the descendants of criminals.

It's rare that I listen to an album in its entirety, but Cut Copy's new album In Ghost Colours is a well-deserving exception. Started by DJ Dan Whitford in 2001 and now on their second album, Cut Copy manages to seamlessly blend transitions from gleaming rock guitar melodies to Daft Punk style techno segments all while keeping you moving and humming along to their upbeat 80's and punk-inspired tunes. The whole album has a certain lightness and a bit of whimsy to it all, which has made it one of my top picks for capturing that carefree beginning-of-summer feeling without all the attitude. It's a cheery album with a great deal of depth, and has successfully avoided the trap of being annoyingly pop-y or screaming fun in that sorority girl sort of way.

They'll be at the Black Cat Thursday, 15 May, which I'm really looking forward to, and hopefully back again soon. In the meantime, check out their music video for their song "Lights and Music" below to hold you over 'til their next trip from down under.

jonny d

Consolers of the Odd Couple

Greetings, cherubim! As I sit here on the couch with a rather prodigious hangover (met the lass' parents for the first time last night and ended up getting lit with them and the chef who cooked our meal after a monumental feast -- just another night in the land of Bobby Sunshine...), watching Inter piss away yet another chance to clinch the scudetto, I thought I'd pop in to do a hybrid "songs of the week" and "CD review" edition. First up on the pallet is the title track off the Raconteurs' new disc, Consolers of the Lonely. The song itself shows the band at its best -- dueling guitars, stop-start tempo shifts, Brendan Benson's golden AM radio voice juxtaposed against Jack White's rapid fire wail -- and the lyrics mimic my life the last few months with all this time spent on my project at work:

Haven't seen the sun in weeks,
My skin is getting pale.
Haven't got a mind left to speak
And I'm skinny as a rail.
...

Haven't had a decent meal
My brain is fried.
Haven't slept a wink for real,
My tongue is tied.

Unfortunately the rest of the album doesn't hold up to the strong start.

What worked so well on the band's first album was the tension between its key parts -- Benson's pop tendencies and the gritty blues-rock mayhem of White -- and the richness that gave the bulk of the songs. It was the sound of a band still getting to know each other, and it brought the best out of both men, leaving a debut that had the teeth of a rock album and the pretty sing-along qualities of a pop one. What we've been given this time, though, seems like the product of a happy marriage -- both members are comfortable now and know each other so well that they start to take on the characteristics of the other -- but that stronger bond doesn't yield as strong a product.

It's only natural that some of the excitement that loaded the first release would be gone. The thrill of discovery has disappeared and what's left is satiated contentment, which is not necessarily a fatal flaw. (For either the music or the metaphoric relationship.) Just as with any relationship, though, allowing too much of oneself to be lost in the mix can lead to problems if there isn't any variety or change, and that's abundantly evident here. What was in perfect balance on the first disc -- the pop/rock friction -- has been followed by an album of disarray. Here we've got Benson sounding like White in a host of songs (including the lead single, "Salute your Solution"), adopting his machine gun vocals, and White aping Benson, either by doing nothing, vocally, ("Many Shades of Black") or by letting songs tip the balance too far towards cornball pop or run of the mill classic rock. ("The Switch and the Spur," "Rich Kid Blues")

Thankfully there are moments where everything is as it was -- perfectly aligned and exciting, like the first throes of that burgeoning relationship. Besides the aforementioned title track, "You Don't Understand Me" and "Old Enough" are a great one-two after the disappointing lead single, and "Carolina Drama" has wonderfully resonant imagery (Jack's favorite trio of colors -- red, black, and white) that takes what might be just another hum-drum narrative to another level. Unfortunately, they're too few and far between to save the album.

The band clearly has potential -- when it works, its formula of pitting rock against pop is quite winning -- but it dooms itself here by forgetting that the joy comes in the friction between those component parts. The strongest relationship is the one that allows both individuals to be themselves and come together to create something greater than that person on their own -- the same thing goes for good art and music. Hopefully Benson and White will rediscover themselves and remember that being who you are doesn't necessarily mean the music -- or the relationship -- will suffer as a result.

Check out a live version of the title track from their performance at Coachella (there were no album versions available -- I looked everywhere) here:



As for track number two, it's off another follow-up album, this one Gnarls Barkley's sophomore effort, The Odd Couple. And while this, too, is another uneven affair, it doesn't suffer from the same "subsuming of self" problem as the Raconteurs did. Here, the only problem seems to be the occasional bad song -- Cee-lo still alternates scattershot raps with a croon that soars for the heavens and Danger Mouse still crafts an unbelievably rich soundscape for him to play in. The album just isn't as immediately embraceable as St. Elsewhere was.

There is no blow your face off single along the lines of "Crazy" that's going to worm its way into your brain and infect every cell for weeks on end -- and that's not necessarily a bad thing. "Charity Case," "Surprise," and this week's selection, "Going On" are all immediate gems -- somehow calling to mind the Motown-flourishes of the 60s (albeit it hyped-up and jittery versions of them), and yet sounding completely different and new -- but the rest of the album is a bit tougher to digest. "Would Be Killer," "Open Book," and "Whatever" all grate at first, but on repeated listens slowly reveal their charms (well maybe not the last -- it still sort of annoys when it pops up on the 'Pod, but as Cee says, "whatever.")

And the rest of the album's the same way -- it takes some time to sink in, but ultimately rewards you for the diligence. "Who's Going to Save My Soul" is a good slow burning soul number, "Blind Mary" captures the exuberance of dating the titular sightless woman (just go with it -- this is the guy who sang a song on the last album about loving someone so much necrophilia was a possibility. It's Cee-lo's world, we're just payin' rent.), and the lead single "Run (I'm a Natural Disaster)" is a staccato blast in all senses of the word, sounding the warning bell about the dangers of knowing me/Cee.

This one's not going to grab you by the ears and shake you like the first one did, but give it some time and it'll please you just the same. Check out the track "Going on" -- which has a gonzo African video with Thriller and drumline undertones -- here: