Songs of Faith and Devotion: The Best of Music in 2009

1. Wilco - Wilco (The Album) -- The latest offering from quite simply the best band in the country right now, my fellow Chicago natives are at the peak of their talents on this album. They effortlessly shift from tongue-in-cheek songs about the salvational powers of the band ("Wilco (The Song)") to songs about down and out boxers replete with theremin and electric sitar ("Deeper Down") and black monster cars in the ominously sizzling "Bull Black Nova." The band can simply do no wrong here.

Tweedy's lyrics continue to shine -- "you were a blessing and I was a curse, I did my best not to make things worse" in "One Wing;" "Cmon, children, you're acting like children. Every generation thinks it's the end of the world" on "You Never Know" -- and the band remains an amazingly cohesive unit, every piece hitting in perfect unison. (Listen to the sheer number of layers on "Nova" or "Never Know" and ask yourself both how many other bands do that (and as well) and how easily it could have gone wrong (and in how many directions). The fact that it doesn't is testament to just how good these guys really are.)

As usual, the songs that hit the heart remain Tweedy's best and among my favorites -- the warm duet between Tweedy and Feist on "You and I" ("You and I, I think we can take it, all the good with the bad, make something no one else has;") the hushed confessional of "Solitaire" ("Once I thought without a doubt, I had it all figured out...took too long to see, I was wrong to believe in me only.") Each provided hope and solace this year as I tried desperately to hold together my failing relationship. The fierce devotion and determination of "I'll Fight" stood head and shoulders above the others, though. It's repeated professions of Tweedy being ready to fight/kill/die for his love -- a love that didn't seem to care/listen/notice -- were particularly poignant, despite the ultimate demise. Tweedy and the band have never been better, and this album shows just how much they have to give.

2. The Avett Brothers - I and Love and You -- An absolute masterpiece, this is the life-changing discovery that last year's Bon Iver album was -- a found treasure you return to time and again, that can lift your spirits and reaffirm your faith in life one minute and leave you laid open and weeping on the floor the next. The titular brothers (and their fellow Carolinean pal Bob Crawford) unleash a string of gorgeous harmonies and lyrics, from the banjo-picked bluegrass of "January Wedding" and its declarations of love; the bittersweet piano dirge "The Perfect Space" that ponders existential dilemmas ("Will you understand when I am too old of a man, will you forget when we've paid our debts .... I wanna have friends that I can trust, that love me for the man I've become not the man that I was") before kicking into a joyful third gear; the unbridled ecstasy of "Kick Drum Heart," which races along full tilt boogie, the bass drum mapping the rhythm of your rapidly beating heart.

This being the year of heartache and destruction, though, the album's biggest winners were the ones that eviscerated emotionally, tearing you open with their honesty, but keeping you alive with the warmth and precision in which it was administered -- "something has me acting like someone I don't want to be, ill with want and poisoned by this ugly greed" ("Ill With Want;") "I see pain, but I don't feel it, I am like the old tin man... I miss that, the feeling a feeling" ("Tin Man;") "they say you gotta lose a couple fights to win, it's hard to tell from where I'm sitting. They say that this is where the fun begins, I guess it's time that I was quitting" ("Slight Figure of Speech.") Nothing comes even close to the album's opener, though, the title track, which still has the ability to draw tears after dozens and dozens of listens. "Dumbed down and numbed by time and age, your dreams to catch, the world the cage, the highway sets the traveler's stage, all exits look the same...three words that became hard to say - 'I and love and you...'" Nothing better encapsulates the pain, sorrow, impotent love, and bitter disappointment of my year than these five minutes, a song that still finds beauty and hope in the jet black sadness.

3. Regina Spektor - Far -- Following on the heels of her 2006 breakthrough Begin to Hope, Spektor comes back with another free-spirited beauty, full of songs of heartbreak, love, and loss belted from the piano bench with a wink and a grin. Her playfulness is still there, as is the poignance -- for the former she notes how her "eyelashes catch my sweat" in "Folding Chair" before throwing in porpoise sounds near the end; she echoes the Morse code opening of "Dance Anthem on the 80s" with staccato vocals before explaining how "the boys and girls watch each other eat, when they really just wanna watch each other sleep." For the latter she explains lost love is "like forgetting the words to your favorite song, you can't believe it, you were always singing along" in "Eet" and charts a range of emotions regarding religion -- from nonplussed in "Blue Lips" ("He stumbled into faith and thought, 'God, this is all there is?'") to respectful fear in "Laughing With." ("No one laughs at God in a hospital, no one laughs at God in a war.")

This being the year it was, though, the ones that resonated the most were those that mirrored my failing relationship -- the beautiful account of two birds on a telephone wire, one too afraid to trust its feelings and act on them, while its partner keeps telling it "Cmon, it'll be ok!" in "Two Birds," for one. The perfect summation to it all though -- the year, the album, life -- was the blissful hope of "One More Time with Feeling" and its indefatigable belief that this too, shall pass. "Hold on, one more time with feeling. Say it again, breathing's just a rhythm. Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right -- this is why we fight..." That indomitable spirit, that big beating heart and the belief in its ability to heal is everywhere on this disc, and it provided no short measure of comfort and solace as the carnage ground to a close. If the bird wants to stay on the wire, convinced it will all fall apart if it doesn't, it's not your fault, she says, go fly away -- it's not your problem to fix anymore.

4. Neko Case - Middle Cyclone -- Case continues her skyward trajectory, following 2006's wonderful Fox Confessor Brings the Flood with this gem, a beautiful potpourri of tales all buttressed by that immaculate voice -- a wonder that is at turns soulful wail and bluesy bellow. The songwriting continues to shine, mixing tales of a vengeful tornado ("This Tornado Loves You"), voracious women ("People Gotta Lot of Nerve"), and disappointing men ("Vengeance is Sleeping") with poignant songs of love and loss. ("The Next Time You Say Forever," for one, which had a beautiful summation of the cause of my exploding relationship -- "Just because you don't believe it, doesn't mean I didn't mean it...")

Case is a chameleon here, effortlessly shifting points of view, from man to woman to animal to meteorological phenomenon -- the aforementioned "Tornado" is sung from the twister's perspective, for crying out loud -- and her honesty and playfulness rings out throughout. As Case said when I saw her perform this year, this is nighttime music -- the perfect soundtrack to a curl near the fireplace or a moonlit drive with the windows down on a summer night. You'll never be happier to see the darkness encroaching.

5. Andrew Bird - Noble Beast -- Yet another lush, gorgeous affair from fellow Chicago native Bird who follows the brilliance of 2007's Armchair Apocrypha with another album laden with hyper-literate lyrics, pitch-perfect whistles, heart-breaking melodies, and a violin used in more ways than duct tape. It's a veritable smorgasbord as Bird flits among thematic and sonic ideas like a frog does lilypads, cycling in instrumental and verbal loops, which lends to the rich experience.

There's the sensual "Effigy" where Bird again harmonizes with Nora O'Connor, a pairing as perfect and regal as champagne and strawberries; the shuffling "Not a Robot, But a Ghost" and its ethereal howl (alongside the effervescent refrain of "I cracked the coooooooooooode, I cracked the code!," which might be the single most fun line to sing this year); the stately crackle midway through "Anonanimal" where Bird frantically rambles his lines before easing back into rhythm; the sunny chorus and whistles of opener "Oh No;" the precious beauty and emotional nakedness of "Natural Disaster" and "The Privateers." They all shine, but the best of them all is "Fitz and the Dizzyspells," which combines all of the above into three and a half minutes of pure joy that will have you dancing around the room smiling.

6. Them Crooked Vultures - Them Crooked Vultures -- The rumors about this one had you salivating from the get go -- a supergroup with Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Homme, Foo Fighters/Nirvana heavy Dave Grohl, and...Led Zeppelin legend John Paul Jones? And drum god Grohl would be returning to the kit for the first time since the devastating Queens album Songs for the Deaf?!? Dear God, you had me at hello. The band masterfully whetted people's appetites the next few months and maintained the mystery surrounding it, releasing only snippets of their recordings on the band website and playing a series of unannounced shows in alias to test the material before releasing the album.

And what they finally delivered is rock at its ballsiest, hedonistic best -- a hybrid of Zeppelin's bombastic swagger and Queens' gritty sexuality and playful lyrics. As with the band itself, you're into the album from the opening notes -- "No One Loves Me, and Neither Do I" sounds like a mothballed tank lurching into action, the rust flaking off as the gears gain momentum, and when things finally lock in at 2:44, the obliteration is astonishing. The last two and a half minutes thud like an artillery attack, and the album scarcely lets up again. The four-song run of "Elephants," "Scumbag Blues," "Bandoliers," and "Reptiles" is absolutely blistering, and among the best 20-odd minutes you'll have this year. "Scumbag" alone is worth the price of admission and shows the band's mastery -- Homme's falsetto sounding more like Jack Bruce's than anything since the glory days of Cream, Jones' funk keys bouncing across the landscape with Homme's howling guitar, and Grohl's drums shredding everything in their path, so cleanly and loudly resonant you thank God for the gift of ears.

7. Adam Arcuragi - I Am Become Joy -- This one's an absolute beauty, a bird of paradise that inexplicably flew past everybody's drab city windowsills and landed in the courtyard unnoticed. An acoustic folkie from Pennsylvania, Arcuragi stuffs more melody, heart, and wisdom into these 11 songs than seems possible, and the result is an album that is more life affirming than a cancer diagnosis of remission.

You could start anywhere -- the stately "Almost Always" and "We Steal People's Medicine;" the heavy-hearted desolation of "The Long Route 38" or the hopeful "She Comes To Me" with their trumpet-led choirs; the full-throated soul of the chorus in "Lunch in Field Four;" the ebullient country-fried twang of "Bottom of the River" and "Math." They all soar, rising high on the back of Arcuragi's sharp lyrics and soulful baritone. ("River"'s devastating opening line -- "Well I am in love with something invisible" -- is another perfect summation of my failed relationship. Boy, was I...) And none go higher than "People and Private Music," a song so joyful and heart-swelling it makes you want to run through a field jumping and singing. Let's hope the lyrics are right -- "the real thing's coming, yeah the real thing's coming" -- because this skinny kid wants to sing one more song...

8. The Features - Some Kind of Salvation -- This nifty little album comes from a quartet of Spartans (Tennessee, not Greece) who deftly bridge the gap between Southern-style rock and big-hearted power pop. I caught them open for Kings of Leon this year and they actually stole the show from their fellow Tennessee brethren, melding big hooks with soaring choruses that make you try to sing along the first time out, despite not knowing any of the words.

The album is chock full of winners -- from the Gypsy-tinged opener "Whatever Gets you By," which transitions seamlessly into the porn horn laden "The Drawing Board;" the sweet lovers "Baby's Hammer" and "Off Track;" and loud-quiet-loud gems "Foundation's Cracked" and "Temporary Blues." Lead singer and guitarist Matt Pelham's voice sucks you in every time, switching from dulcet croon to full-throated roar in an instant, and urges you to do the same. None more compellingly than "Lions," which captures the band at its finest. A powerful, joyous song of hope, love, and commitment, this is one I hope to sing again soon, only this time to someone who sings it back.

9. The XX - xx -- A cool, spare affair from a trio of Londoners, this one's slickness personified. It is perfect, calming mood music -- it so evocatively conveys the black of night that to listen to it in the day is like having breakfast at 11:30PM or brushing your teeth at a bar. It's got miles of open space to relax in, and the hushed vocals and clean, simple guitar riffs scream through it like meteors rocketing through the sky. There's the sultry, lovelorn "Shelter" and the imploring "Infinity," which smolder like the embers of a fire; there's the bouncing skip beat of "Islands," whose guitar is a blast of sunshine to match the bright, hopeful lyrics.

"Crystalised" is the show pony, though -- the perfect reflection of what the band can do. An infectious, plucky riff that smacks of somewhere in the Orient, driving electro drum beats and mumbled boy-girl vocals that spiral around, and cool, chilly atmosphere that creeps out of the speakers like frost out of the freezer. A simple, sexy affair, this one makes for a heck of a debut.

10. MSTRKRFT - Fist of God / Deadmau5 - For Lack of a Better Name / Major Lazer - Guns Don't Kill People.....Lazers Do -- In a year that was as brutal as this one aforementionedly was, the need to blow off steam and dance away the pain was high, and these three were frequently called into service. While none of them are as undeniably perfect dance monsters like last year's Justice album, they come close at times, and it's those moments that earned them the three-way split here. All three showed up to blow minds at Lolla's dance tent (quite possibly the musical high point of the year for me) and those in attendance know why.

MSTRKRFT came to the stage with a bottle of Jack, lumberjack/redneck couture, and a pair of killer mustaches and proceeded to shower the crowd with the raw fuzz and thudding drums of member Jesse Keeler's old band Death From Above 1979 and the synthed out glory of a Justice/Daft Punk lovechild. (Along with whatever Jack Keeler decided not to gulp down and spray on us instead.) Album opener "It Ain't Love" is a firestarting gem and "Heartbreaker" is a perfect marriage of dance beats and John Legend's silky R&B croon. These two, along with the mildly retarded (but still catchy) party anthem "Bounce" are enough to prop up the album before it starts to falter under a string of unimpressive and interchangeable hip hop cameos.

Deadmau5 came to the stage in his customary mouse head just as night was falling, and the sight of the oversized cartoon mask glowing white in the strobes, a silent, somewhat creepy counterpoint to the darkness around it, was emblematic of the music that spun out from the speaker stacks. It's cool, mysterious, and takes a little while before you know what to make of it, but you will end up dancing. The album opens the same way, with two instrumentals that slowly get your head bobbing, warming you up for ten solid minutes before dropping "Ghosts n Stuff" and "Hi Friend," the sole tracks with vocals on the disc. Both are great tracks, the former a belt it to the rafters type rave, the latter a Chemical Brothers style cyclone, and they mark the high points of the album's prowess before it starts to peter out with increasingly uninspiring instrumentals.

For his part Major Lazer mastermind Diplo came to the stage in full suit and tie and hit the crowd with an array of gigantic international beats so pristine and precisely deployed, you could tell you were in the hands of a professional. The album upholds the formula perfected on M.I.A.'s offerings, all globetrotting flavor and chic, and this one transports you to Jamaica with a dancehall soundtrack so authentic it practically drips with sweat and pot smoke. Santigold's maddening chant on the opener "Hold the Line" is irresistible, "Mary Jane" is another ode to the green stuff that'll have you shaking your tail, and "Can't Stop Now" is pure reggae bliss, a cool, lazy breeze cutting through the Kingston humidity. "Pon de Floor" is the hands down winner, though, with a distorted snake-charmer's horn that you can't get out of your head winding among the best beats Diplo has constructed. An uneven affair like the other two, there's more than enough here to start your 2010 on the right foot happily on the dance floor.

The Syntax of Sadness: A Love Letter of Loss

Read through a found treasure yesterday, Alana Wilcox's A Grammar of Endings, which had called to me from the shelves of my favorite used book store back home last weekend. The reason it spoke to me initially was because of the premise -- a woman trying to sort through the pain and grief of her breakup attempts to write one final letter to her departed, for closure, correction, forgiveness, forgetfulness. The letter proves elusive, words failing to encapsulate the scope of her loss, the depth of her sorrow, the power of her agony.

And so the novel -- which purports to be fictional, but reads as viscerally and raw as leafing through someone's journal -- progresses as she works through the various iterations and attending emotions. Wilcox uses a medical condition of absence to start each chapter -- avulsion, alethia, anaphia -- each representative of the emotional impairment being grappled with within. Avulsion, a tearing away or forcible separation; alethia, an inability to forget past events; anaphia, the absence of the sense of touch. It's an incredibly potent construct, and the difficulties the narrator has surmounting them rang true, especially as her frustrations and desperation to do so mount:

"I will take one word from each book here that reminds me of you, I will cut them out with scissors and drop them into a white envelope. You will open it and they will fall onto your desk, landing assuredly into the perfect sentence."

"I would love you like a book. Symmetrical, unpredictable. Pages pressed flat together, words deep and fleshy through the thickness. Letters immutable and sequential; I would love you with the certainty of the other side of the leaf. Indelible as ink. Irrevocable as binding, as reading. The strictness of page numbers, the gentle sound of a page turning. I would assemble the indices of every book ever written and bind them together and this would be my letter to you."

"Perhaps I can sing you this letter, notes clear and long in place of my discordant words. The sincerity of perfect harmony; the impermanence of song...I open my mouth and begin to sing to you, and in the instant between the hard push of breath and the sound of the first note there are all the ways I tried to love you and all the ways I tried to forget you, and then there would be music. True and loud and clear...some perfect note that is everything I have ever wanted to tell you...And when I finish singing this to you, it would be over. There would be no trace of it. My love, my grief, my regret would have dissipated with the last echoes of my song. There would be nothing to reread on a sad rainy afternoon, no record of its success or failure, nothing to touch. There would only be the memory in my lungs of the breath that held you, and some quiet melody that might haunt me in my deepest sleep."

Wilcox wields these attempts with the lethal precision of a brain surgeon and intersperses them with love letters of other famous writers -- John Keats, Henry Miller -- which only compounds the lesson: there is no simple end to this. Your situation is not unique, yet history and the experiences of others cannot help. You seek only to write a letter, yet renowned authors will provide no inspiration. You bear the symptoms of emotional and physical impairment, yet identifying the medical corollary will offer you no cure.

You are in this, and it is yours alone. There is no succor, no evasion, no quarter.

It's a devastating read, particularly for someone in my situation (so close as it is to hers), but well worth the anguish. I plowed through it in one sitting, teary-eyed and injured in my favorite little roundabout yesterday, torn open time and again by her self-awareness and honesty:

On recovery: "Going on a date with him, with anyone, would mean that this grief is not insurmountable and is weaker than I thought, or that I am stronger, or that I loved [him(her)] less than I thought. It would mean I was getting on with my life, as though life were something independent of this love and this grief.

On seeing them again, as ordinary strangers: "How I will have to talk to you as if you were just anybody else, how I will have to push the sound of your sobs from my mind if I am not to cry myself. How I will have to pretend not to know everything about you; how I will have to stop myself from touching you without even thinking about it... How the divergence of our lives will be reflected in your eyes.

On memories fading and the fear of moving on: "I was trying to visualize your legs but I could only see them like a photograph, textureless and unreal. This failure of memory disturbs me. It suggests that I didn't love you well enough to remember, or that it is so important to me that I have no choice but to forget...I have stopped saying your name aloud. Sometimes I try to use it but when I reach for it I can't find it, because there can't be one word that is you. And sometimes it comes up to my lips and I seal them tight to keep it from escaping. As though there were some finite amount of the sound of you, that every time I speak your name I lose a little more of you.

Like I said, a devastating read, but a beautiful one as well. For we've all been there before, to varying degrees and frequencies, and while it may reopen some old wounds ("you, always you, only where I never expect to find you;" "gestures like one-way streets") it may help provide clarity -- and in time, closure -- too. A great read.

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Two quick musical additions to the arsenal from albums that have been getting a lot of play lately. First is from Adam Arcuragi, a Philly-based folkie whose songs are of my usual fixations, love, loss, and overlooked beauty, all wrapped in warm acoustic guitar. He's only got two albums under his belt, including this year's I Am Joy, but his first one has been the one on repeat of late, 2006's self-titled debut. Check out this one slice of prettiness, emblematic of all its neighbors, "1981."



The second one comes from the debut album of The xx, a band of London high schoolers that will wow you with its simplicity. With its boy-girl vocals, electro-drums, and simple new wave guitar parts, it sounds like a mix of Interpol and Stars, and is a great album of mood music. There's miles of open spaces here, with the hushed vocals and chilly guitar riffs giving it a cool, intimate feel, like uttered confessionals in the back a speeding car. Check out "Islands" from the self-titled debut:



Until next time, mi amici...

A Fear of Falling Down

I was reading the book Sway: The Irresistible Pull of Irrational Behavior on the plane yesterday and found the chapter on fear-based decision making particularly apropos, considering my recent experience. It lays out several examples for how subtly and thoroughly fear of losing can affect our behavior -- from people who hold onto falling stocks until they're totally worthless, rather than sell early and take a smaller loss, to people who sign up for flat-rate calling plans they never use to their maximum, rather than cheaper pay-as-you-go plans. The fear of a loss is so compelling it causes us to overreact in the opposite direction and act irrationally.

The authors write, "We experience the pain associated with a loss much more vividly than we do the joy of experiencing a gain... and the more meaningful a potential loss is, the more loss averse we become." Once we get a sense of which direction things are trending, or are forced to make a decision that factors in a possible negative outcome, our minds invariably chase that path to the worst case scenario and, once there, have a very difficult time putting things back in their proper perspective.

You see the stock you paid $50 for has dropped to $47 and don't sell because you don't want to lose the $3 -- money that's already spent and realistically has no bearing on whether you should sell or not. The loss could be due to fraud allegations; a tanking market; lack of confidence with a newly appointed CEO -- all things that could signal an impending further decline that would warrant your cutting losses and selling now. But we don't. $3 becomes $5 becomes $15 becomes $50, because all we can see is how much we've lost relative to where we started.

The same thing happens with the calling plans -- once we see that phone calls over our allotted minutes cost $2.50 a minute we overreact and start envisioning ourselves talking on the phone for hours each night, edging closer and closer to our limit and then having to pay an exorbitant fee, even if realistically we only use our phone to text and call home once a week. The fear of a loss gets us to act irrationally, and even when it's brought to our attention it's a hard thing to stop. [Think about this as you're stuck in traffic tonight and about to tear off on some roundabout path home with the hopes that it'll be faster, rather than stay on the path you know to be shorter...]

And nowhere is this fear more pernicious (and potentially damaging) than in relationships. It causes us to read into things we shouldn't -- "he just smiled at that waitress, I wonder if he thinks she's pretty. I wonder if he wants to sleep with her. I wonder if he's slept with other people while we've been going out. I wonder how many people he's slept with while we've been going out. I wonder what else he's been lying to me about." It's a slippery slope that causes arguments and feelings that cloud rational decision-making and forces you to miss things that seem obvious to everyone else.

And unfortunately in my case it causes people to walk away from a two-year relationship because they panic over a string of lousy circumstances beyond our control -- we didn't have jobs but then we got jobs but then we lost them at the last minute due to irreversible clerical errors and had to go back to our previously unsatisfying old ones in the town we just left a thousand miles away. We weren't making much money during this time and one of us was depleting their savings and then almost out of money and then totally out of money and then stressed about having to take money from the other one, even though that person saved more for this exact reason, if it came to that, and thus didn't care. This piled stress upon doubt and led to poor self-confidence in the individual, which when picked up by the other person and unable to be repaired by them led to doubt and stress about the relationship, which led to more frustration and arguing than in previous times, which became an undeniable sign that we were not meant for each other, had never been meant for each other, had always been like this, and things would always be like this, so the only smart thing to do was leave.

This teleology of negativity obscures all other factors that would seem to really matter when considering that decision -- do you still love this person; do you miss them now that they're gone; do you think about them enough to still do nice things for them (bake them cookies, for example), despite saying you don't want them in your life? Is there a possibility you're letting the power of the negative things that happened obscure both their proper context and the positive things that acted as their counterbalance, making a rash decision as a result? Are you letting your fears get the best of you and are you embarrassed for having done so?

The fact that someone dreamed about my death and was so overwhelmed by that thought they woke up bawling would seem significant to me, especially coupled with the answers to the questions above (yes to all, according to the source). Yet knowing you're acting irrationally and subsequently changing your behavior is no easier in love than in getting yourself to sell that tanking stock. Walking away from those feelings, that connection, and that shared history for fear of hitting more hard times or arguing again makes no more sense than hanging onto that stock because you've already lost so much of what you originally paid. It's not impossible -- think how technically simple it is to sell that dog or change that calling plan -- it's just mentally and emotionally challenging. Being able to tamp down that fear -- we're fighting now more than ever; that has to be significant, right? -- and not let it sway your decision-making or sully the big picture is the hard part.

How do you convince someone that a love that survives a firestorm of lousy circumstances -- despite logic, luck, or perceived merit -- is worth saving, or at least trying to, if you both agree it's intact? That bad stuff happens all the time -- no matter how diligently we try to avoid it -- and our choices are to either fixate on it and get tripped up by the fact that it shouldn't have happened, this isn't fair; or we can learn from it, forgive the mistakes we make as we fumble at trying to deal with it, and not let it devour the good stuff that still lives nearby.

It's all a matter of seeing the forest for the trees, as the saying goes. The authors write, "when things go wrong we can either apply a short-term Band-Aid solution or remember that in the grand scheme of things it's only a minor misstep. Having a long-term plan -- and not casting it aside -- is the key to dealing with our fear of loss." And that's the view I've tried to take through all this, but unfortunately the lesson I'm learning is if the other person isn't able/willing/ready to do that too, it's not going to work.

It's as if one of you is trying to buy a home, focusing on where the kids' rooms will be and how much space the dog will have to run in the backyard and where the tomato plants and basil will go and how the sunlight will hit you in bed on Sunday mornings, while the other person is just buying a house, so only sees the roof that needs fixing and the cracks in the pavement and the leaky faucets and old water heater that's probably going to explode. If all you're looking for is bad stuff and bullies, that's all you're going to see; if you look at the whole picture, though, you might see that bully is outnumbered and the playground is full of happy kids. That doesn't ignore the fact the bully exists and could come up and beat you senseless one day, it just means your fear of that possibility doesn't overwhelm you and get treated as a certainty.

Yet until the other person's willing to trust that reality and stop themselves from acting irrationally, there's not much you can do. The stock broker's advice will continue falling on deaf ears and you'll keep your flat-rate calling plan just in case you decide to start talking like a teen and living on the phone. And if you're me, you will continue to hear parallels to your life in every song lyric and poignance in every classic film. You'll find guidance in books of every flavor (obviously), mine disparate past experiences for answers, and write love poems that will never get read by the intended audience. You'll keep thinking about how silly this all is and how quickly it could be repaired.

The people that knew you together will continue to scratch their heads and say ridiculous things like they thought you were "inspirational" or "the truest vision of mutual love" they'd ever seen. You'll go to weddings and get caught up in all the expressions of true love and you'll miss sharing it -- and directing it towards -- the love of your life. Not a day will go by where you don't hope till you ache that today's the day she comes around; that today's the day where all the dots connect and that person you fell in love with -- the heart-stopping beauty of humor and steel -- comes back once and for all.

You wait. You wait for the click and hope it's not long in coming. But you know it's out of your hands. Because at the end of the day, if the fear of falling down trumps the fear of doing nothing, letting slip past what could be a mistake you'll regret forever, there's not much you can do. If they believe loving someone only matters when things are good -- when the only time it really matters is when times are tough, when everyone else has abandoned you, and so has your confidence -- then there isn't anything to say.

Love isn't a matter of convenience, it's a matter of calamity -- because if you can count on it then, that's all that matters. It shows what you have is more precious and durable than a diamond, not the romantic equivalent of costume jewelry. If you have that, you need never worry again. Otherwise what you've got is no more valuable than shares of some worthless tech stock or a thousand minute calling plan.

Until next time, my friends...

-RdS

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Some more songs from the aforementioned healing process and the endless parallels to my life in song. They're pretty self-explanatory (though you probably think they always are, so why don't I just shut up, right?):

To:



From:



Forever

Sunshine in the Swamp (Again)

Well for those of you who know me, you know that I'm back in the district, an incredible year of tumult, heartbreak, last minute defeats and painfully acquired lessons behind me -- the most I've ever endured, which is no insignificant statement knowing my history. And while the wounds are too fresh and deep to detail here, allow the fact that I had to leave everything behind in Chicago to return to much the same in DC -- with one major (and I would claim the most important) piece changed -- to suffice as explanation for now.

But as I regroup and reassess, trying to figure out what's salvageable and what's damaged beyond repair, I wanted to come out of hiding to offer these two songs from albums I've been wearing out lately as illustrative tokens from my reflection. The first represents my relentless hope and optimism -- that despite the pain and fire of the last eight months, the things I felt were unassailable truths will still be found intact once the ashes have settled. It's me at my most irrational -- some would say simply foolish -- but the heart follows its own logic and needs only make sense once.

The song is from The Features, a nifty little band from Tennessee I caught opening for the Kings last month, which speaks to all the above -- big heart, big hooks, all buried in a big hopeful singalong. The album mixes soaring choruses with quiet-loud Gypsy flourishes to great effect, but none more so than this one. Check out "Lions" off the band's latest album, "Some Kind of Salvation:"




The second offering speaks to my more rational side, the one that's heard everything that's been said and questions whether love really is enough; whether putting someone else first and not more vigilantly protecting your own interests is an inevitable precursor to relationship failure. It's the clear-eyed, cerebral contrast to the dewy-eyed romantic above -- and despite the symmetry of their end result (me bruised on the ground like an overripe peach) the two are in direct opposition most days.

The song's from the Avett Brothers, a Carolinian trio whose big label debut is full of fantastic songs -- simple, heartbreaking lyrics and beautiful melodies, all wrapped in the warm embrace of banjo, piano, and acoustic folk. "January Wedding," "And It Spread," and "Kick Drum Heart" are all undeniable winners, but none surpass the title track, "I and Love and You." It captures the emotional back and forth I've been going through lately, switching from the romantic optimism above to gutshot, defeated realism as the brothers switch verses. By the time they get to the chorus -- the title of the song and the album -- it seems like she's singing directly to me and the latter part comes crashing home like a sledgehammer to the stomach. Beautiful, bracing stuff, even with the emotional toll it exacts. Here's the video, and check out the entire album here, streaming free on the band's website:



Well, I'm off to resume reflecting (and unpacking), an act whose soundtrack seems to be an endless repetition of Bon Iver's question at the end of "The Wolves (Act I & II)" -- what might have been lost...

Until next time, my friends.

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:




------------------

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