Pretty Goes with Pretty

My Listening Hours: The Rest of January–March

Neu!: Neu! 2
La Düsseldorf: s/t and Viva
I've already said my share about Neu! 2—probably my favorite Neu! album, so long as you delete the four tape-speed experiments sprinkled throughout. In fact something similar can be said for all three Neu! albums; none are perfect, none the quintessential, if-you-only-get-one-make-it-this-one record. There's always one or two tracks that see Klaus Dinger and Michael Rother slipping off the experimental ledge. So I made a little customized greatest hits from all three records that feels, to me, more satisfying.

For all intents and purposes you can add the best of La Düsseldorf's output to that playlist. La Düsseldorf was Dinger's band following his split with Rother (who went on to Harmonia—a group I haven't checked out yet). I expected a more pronounced break from the Neu! sound with La Düsseldorf, but much of both La Düsseldorf and Viva follow fairly naturally. The synths are still there (along with other instruments), Dinger's "navajo beat" is still in effect, and there's still that balance of prog-ambient and, well, goofiness. La Düsseldorf's opening track, "Düsseldorf," features a single lyric, "Düsseldorf," repeated off and on for thirteen minutes. Track two, "La Düsseldorf," features the same lyric over different but similar music for five more minutes. This is a four-track album, so we're already halfway through. Each song by itself is great, but the repetition does get monotonous. So like Neu! 2, we've got Dinger once again making something that is almost terrific but is hampered, ultimately, by its nuttiness. Viva, the band's second album, fares better—due in large part to the twenty-minute masterpiece that is "Cha Cha  2000." It's easily one of the best songs Dinger has ever had a hand in.

• Neu: Neuschnee
• La Düsseldorf: Düesseldorf (from La Düsseldorf)
• La Düsseldorf: Geld (from Viva)

Animal Collective: Sung Tongs
I'm coming at Animal Collective all out of order. First Campfire Songs, then Strawberry Jam, then Feels, then Merriweather Post Pavilion. Now Sung Tongs. It's kind of a strange way to go about it. On the one hand I can piece together the evolution of the band—Feels seems like an explicit bridge between Sung Tongs and Strawberry Jam, and echoes of every record lurk somewhere in Merriweather—but on the other, some of these earlier albums don't feel like the revelation that they seem to have been for the fans of AC that have been on board longer than I have. That said, my brilliant wife is way into this album. It's her favorite next to Merriweather (which I'd bet she'd declare her favorite album of the year so far); she also loves Panda Bear's Person Pitch but runs hot and cold on Strawberry Jam and Feels—both of which I like more than the Panda Bear record. Clearly there are a number of Animal Collective debates in the PGWP household. Anyway: Sung Tongs. This is a strong record. I had complaints about portions of Feels that found the band going off on these spacey, drifting indulgences. They seemed to walk the line between genius ("Banshee Beat") and wankery ("Bees" or "Daffy Duck") like a drunk taking a DUI test. Sung Tongs sees the band more fully immersed in that sound, and for the better. Perhaps by dint of being more cohesive overall—there are no rhythm section–driven rockers like Feels' "Grass" or "Turn Into Something"—Sung Tongs becomes an album you can sink into. It can drift past you, yes, but at times that seems to be the intent. I dig this record, though I need to spend a lot more time with it. It probably wasn't wise of me to pick this up so close on the heels of Merriweather, an album so utterly different but also so much more fun.

• Animal Collective: Leaf House

Wavves: Wavvves
Wavvves doesn't really feel like a full-length album. The brief record is technically twelve tracks long, but it feels more like six or seven suites, as instrumental fragments buffer many of the more pop-oriented tracks. ("Pop-oriented" because there are melodies buried under all that distortion.) I hesitate to say they're "filler"—they're more than that, though also less than standalone works. The whole record does add up to something; there is an aesthetic at work here—a kind of raucous experimentation, unpretentious and un-self-conscious. Also, juvenile and naive. Does that mean it's good? Yeah, it's good. It's fun to listen to. I wrote about Wavves a little while back over at Do You Compute, in the context of GodheadSilo—a band who I feel is a kind of ancestor to Wavves. I don't think Wavves takes themselves (himself, I guess) very seriously, and that's okay—though it has the effect of making Wavvves good but not essential. 

• Wavves: Surf Goth

Seefeel: Quique and Starethrough EP
It's funny: ten or twelve or fifteen years ago, when labels like Kranky and Warp were releasing record after record of genius space rock (the former) and heady electronica (the latter), I was lapping all of it up like Pavlov's dog. So how or why did I skip Seefeel, whose 1993 album Quique—guitar-based electronica—was like a bridge between Bowery Electric and Aphex Twin? I heard them back then, but for whatever reason I just didn't consider them seriously. Oh well: better late than never. There's no mistaking which decade Seefeel hail from, but still, Quique holds up pretty well. Their followup EP, Starethrough, I like even more. Perhaps by dint of being shorter it has the luxury of seeming more concentrated, more distilled.

• Seefeel: Through You (from Quique)
• Seefeel: Spangle (from Starethrough)

Air France: No Way Down EP
On the other hand, Seefeel seems positively current compared to Air France, whose 2008 EP No Way Down sounds straight out of a Euro dance club circa 1992. It's a style of music I only liked in small doses back then and only like in small doses now. "Collapsing at Your Doorstep" is the highlight here—hence the track deservedly made the rounds of numerous mp3 blogs last year. The rest of the EP's quality depends on your tolerance level for airy, light techno. I personally liked their 2006 EP, On Trade Winds, a little more than No Way Down (the two are now available as a single disc, by the way), though "Collapsing" is probably the high point of either. Most of No Way Down is pleasant, but it drifts into background music whenever I put it on.

• Air France: Collapsing At Your Doorstep

That's it for the today. Come back tomorrow for some Bowie, Jorge Ben, and the rest of the rest.

My Listening Hours: The Best of January–March

Neko Case: Middle Cyclone
I can't think of another record that made a better second impression than Middle Cyclone. on first listen I thought the album was too long, too ballad-heavy, to monotonous. Midway through my second listen a couple days later, my ears hooked into the lyrics of the title track—a sparse number comprised of Neko Case's voice and guitar, accentuated by angelic backing vocals and a tentative music box. Suddenly I was tuned into Middle Cyclone—an album I've quickly realized is the best of Case's career so far.

Much of Middle Cyclone seems to detail fundamentally flawed relationships—lovers who love passionately but without ever hearing each other. "Just because you don't believe it / doesn't mean I didn't mean it," she sings in "The Next Time You Say Forever"; "I'm a man-eater," she says in "People Got a Lot of Nerve"—"but still you're surprised when I eat you." Later a character in another song admits "I'm not the man you think I am." In "The Pharoahs," Case details a sixteen-year-old who falls for and marries a man who "said you like girls in white leather jackets... that was good enough for me." These are songs about men and women hurtling through affairs—the opener is called "This Tornado Loves You," if you need more evidence. Perhaps this is why the album overcomes that initial feeling of being too long and too slow: Middle Cyclone is full of passionate people—blindly, stupidly, violently passionate—caught in quiet moments of lucidity. The line from the title track that first caught my ear distilled this to four lines:

Can't give up acting tough
It's all that I'm made of
Can't scrape together quite enough
To ride the bus to the outskirts of the fact that I need love

The song is one of many flawless moments—"Magpie to the Morning," "Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth," and "Prison Girls" are a few others. It's too early in the year to talk best of 2009 (though that hasn't stopped others from claiming same for Animal Collective). At any rate, this is a contender.

• Neko Case: Middle Cyclone

Andrew Bird: Noble Beast
My review of the record probably says it all. In short: I love the record, though not as much as the previous two. Bird is still my favorite musician working today, hands down, though I have burned out a little on the record; I think it's less to do with the album itself and more to do with listening to Bird, period, for the better part of the last two-plus years straight.

• Andrew Bird: Oh No

Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavilion
Merriweather Post Pavilion and Noble Beast came out on the same day, January 20, and together the two albums have taken up the bulk of my listening concentration. Maybe it was the competition for my time between the two records that resulted in my hot-and-cold relationship to this record, but I started white hot—loved this record—for the first week or two; then the glow wore off in a big way, not to be rekindled until I saw them live. Now I'm right there with most the rest of the bloggers and fanboys out there who think this is the best album of Animal Collective's career.  

• Animal Collective: Bluish

Faust: Faust IV
Is there a better feeling than buying an album by a new-to-you artist and being blown away by it, then buying another album by the same artist and finding it even better? Such was my experience with Faust. I went on about Faust's first two albums last year—Faust So Far, their second album, was particularly terrific. I picked up Faust IV in January, expecting it to be as good as what I'd come to expect, but this album shattered those expectations. From the opening head-expander that is "Krautrock" to the subdued masterpiece "Jennifer" to the So Far-reprising "Picnic On A Frozen River, Deuxieme Tableux." everything about Faust IV is more focused, more muscular, more cohesive than their other albums. Yes, that means it's also a little more accessible, though no less daring. This is a must-own album.

• Faust: Jennifer  

Mission of Burma: Vs.
I summed up my feelings on this record already, so I'll just quote the last line: "Still, it burns me a little each time I hear the records: a little voice inside me nags, 'This record should be old news to you. It should have long been part of your vocabulary. You should have listened to everyone who ever recommended them to you.'"

• Mission of Burma: Trem Two

Josh Ritter: The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter
In a way, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter doesn't feel like a new acquisition for me. Back at the end of 2007, when the album was popping up on a number of best-of-the-year lists, I managed to pick up six or seven mp3s—about half the album—without really trying. I liked what I had, either despite or because it was incredibly straightforward—Ritter is a song-crafter in the most traditional sense, content with a good turn of phrase built into a clear melody with a satisfying level of structure and repetition. Really great pop songs, in other words, without the unnecessary clutter of experimentalism or epic scope. Ritter has a sandy voice with a tinge of southern charm, and his songs are colored by strings, horns, or subtle electronics as often as they are stripped of everything but his voice and guitar. The album—easily the best of his ouevre—is pure twenty-first-century Americana; but for all his traditionalism, he's also refreshingly confident. I was satisfied for the last year with what I had, but I'm much more glad to finally have the whole record now. 

• Josh Ritter: Mind's Eye

Del Shannon: Greatest Hits
I feel like I've talked about this before but I can't recall: I have an "awesome" playlist in my iTunes library, which I update every time I do one of these quarterly posts. The playlist currently stands at 910 songs strong, and is made up of anything in my library that is five stars and upbeat and fun and happy and basically any song, regardless of era or genre, that makes me or my brilliant wife go YES when it comes on. In this post-Indie 103 era in Los Angeles, the playlist is more essential than ever as it's pretty much become my radio station. Some artists are almost custom-made for this playlist: Harry Nilsson, for instance. Spoon. The Lovin' Spoonful. When he's joyous, Cat Stevens. The Beatles, duh. Not long ago my brilliant wife picked up Del Shannon's greatest hits for $2.99 and one listen in, we pretty much just shoved the whole record into the Awesome Mix. "Runaway," of course—who doesn't sing along full-tilt when Shannon Wa-wa-wa-wa-wonders why, why-why-why-why-why? But there's so much more: "Little Town Flirt," "Two Kinds of Teardrops," "Hats Off to Larry," "The Swiss Maid"... the list goes on. Probably the funnest record I've picked up all year.

• Del Shannon: Little Town Flirt

Let's Not Be Assholes

The news of the day today was that the new Grizzly Bear had leaked—three months before its official release date and apparently of a quality substantially below what the band intends. This post at Idolator, in which people were actually asking Grizzly Bear's Ed Droste outright if he would point them to the link for the leak, or better yet be a sport and leak a higher-quality version, was the most entertaining thing I'd read about it all day, though also the most depressing.

Back in December when the Animal Collective album had yet to leak there were similarly entitled claims, appeals, and threats related to a stupid rickroll that got out of hand. In both cases the moral of the story is this: don't tease indie rock fans. We deserve our music when we want it, without payment. We place no value on a musician's artistry. Albums have become like bounties one can collect on, holding them up and shouting to the masses "LEAKAGE!"

I'm sick of it. It's gotten to the point that it's just... gross. And sad.

I'm not innocent. Though I've never been to a bittorent site or downloaded a full album prior to its release, I have hunted down individual mp3s, often amounting to a full album, through places like Hype Machine. I don't acquit myself of anything. I will say: I've never pointed other people to a full-album download for a record that hasn't come out yet. I've always felt like that was kind of a dick move.

Anyway, the point is, whether I've participated or not, I've typically accepted that that's just the way it is these days. Leaks happen. People get excited and it's there so they download it. But then two weeks ago Touch & Go essentially went out of business. And a bunch of people who care deeply about music—independent music—were laid off as a result. A bunch of smaller labels that depended on T&G's distribution aid were left to figure something else out. It might be too soon, but could some of those smaller labels go belly-up as a result of this?

It sucks! And sure, you can be cynical about it and see nothing new under the sun here—the current climate of downloading is ruining record labels big and small, yawn. And Animal Collective's album leaked but they also hit #13 on Billboard in their first week of release (selling a whopping 24,000 copies... see, it's still sad). And Grizzly Bear may well hit a similar mark. But come on: think about a label like Touch & Go, one of the most venerable indie labels of all time. It's all but gone now. And we're all a bunch of assholes for helping them toward their ruin. You think they'll be the last? You don't have to be the douche twittering in Ed Droste's face to be complicit in all this.

 Chill on the Grizzly Bear and all those other records. Just let them come out when they're supposed to. And if the leaks are out there, don't be the asshole who flashes the big blinking arrow. Let the bands retain a little control over how and when their art is consumed—and for god's sake give them some money. Hype don't pay the bills, bitches.

I'm just a little tired of it all. I feel like someone's parent right now, lecturing on a subject you've been lectured about a million times before. All I ask is you just think a little about what hunting down a leak is all about—or worse, offering a leak to others. You're being an asshole.

You Don't Need Me to Tell You

Though I've been listening to it since its release five weeks ago, I've felt no need to offer up much here about Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion. Plenty of other bloggers, journalists, and all-around fanatics have done enough, you don't need me to pile on. Your level of interest in the band and album, whatever it may be, is likely cemented by now.

Plus, it didn't exactly sink its teeth into me the way Strawberry Jam did this time last year—my first real exposure to the band. Not to say Merriweather's not good—it's arguably better, if only because it's more cohesive, more enjoyable in terms of melodic hooks and danceable rhythms, and just sounds tremendous—just that I... it didn't... I don't know. It didn't unlock me, or I didn't unlock it, the way Strawberry Jam and I got on. (On the other hand, my brilliant wife has been captivated by Merriweather—and Person Pitch, for that matter—but has never felt the connection with the other Animal Collective albums we own.)

We bought Merriweather the day it came out. We went to Amoeba after work and bought the disc, then we just drove around the Hollywood Hills for an hour while the album boomed out of our car's speakers. What a first impression! It felt flawless. Yet after two weeks of playing it regularly I noticed that my urge to put it on dropped to nil. Was this going to be another In Rainbows? That's another album I can say is quantifiably "great"—thematically cohesive, full of melodic hooks and danceable rhythms, sounds tremendous—yet has exerted no pull on me whatsoever since around late November 2007. Occasionally I put it on and remind myself that I have no complaints with the record, that it ranks among the band's best, that it even sparks wild pleasures in many of its tracks, yet it still lacks something, some connection. Like a girlfriend you have everything in common with but for whatever reason lacks that intangible spark. In Rainbows and I are solidly in the friend zone. Will Merriweather be the same?

It's hard to know. I will say this, though: seeing Animal Collective at the Troubadour on Saturday night—my first time seeing them—went a helluva long way toward taking this relationship to the next level. It was easily the best show I've seen in at least two or three years. I'm a guy who, when it comes to music, can find some opinion to articulate, some critique to offer, some vantage point from which to asses what I'm seeing or hearing or experiencing. So it's meaningful to me that watching Avey Tare, Panda Bear, and Geologist on stage reduced me to little more than fuuuuuuuuuuck for about 90 minutes. Two days later I'm able to offer a few fragments of what else passed through my mind:

• It says something that, of all songs, they opened with Strawberry Jam's weirdest track, "#1," and that, of all songs, it truly felt like the party was about to start. Though I like the recorded version, it's purpose on Strawberry Jam seems to be more of an opportunity to catch your breath—not to prepare you for more exhileration. The song felt transformed here.
• It says something that they didn't play a number of my favorite songs—"For Reverend Green," "Peacebone," "Banshee Beat," "Grass," "Bluish"—yet I came away from the show feeling wholly satisfied.
• So often I hear people break down Animal Collective's songs and albums in terms of the band's singers—Strawberry Jam is "an Avey Tare record," "My Girls" is "a Panda Bear song"—but seeing the level of collaboration on every single song—each member clearly enhancing the efforts of the others—gave me a new appreciation of this band's songwriting prowess.
• Or, if we are going to assign each album to one member's creative genius, may I humbly submit that Merriweather may well be "a Geologist album"? He seemed to be doing nearly all the heavy lifting, musically speaking, from where I was standing.

This week I'm back on a Merriweather kick, and I feel like the album is taking in a way it hadn't before. It's as if I'd previously known a truth about the record—that it was good—the way a scientist knows knows a truth. I could measure it, could describe it, could list its qualities as if it were a species of insect. But after Saturday's show I know the same truth in a much more personal, real way. I think I do, at least. Maybe the shine will wear off a second time. We'll see. But I'm reminded of something Matthew Perpetua said in a conversation for the Fader when Merriweather first came out, which I think was probably the most on-point thing I read about Animal Collective amidst all the hullaballoo that surrounded the new album's release:

[I]t's sorta astonishing how they're arguably the indie rock band of this decade, the one group who legitimately brought in a new aesthetic for what we know as indie rock, and they do not rock at all, and they rarely play guitars. If you go back to the late '90s, people were really angsty about guitars, and how they were inevitably at the center of indie music. And now we're ten years later, and that audience is now totally in thrall of an album that is almost entirely keyboards, samples, drum machines and harmonized vocals. The acclaim for Merriweather is refreshing to me because you can't really point to another record like it, at least outside the Animal Collective catalog. It's a legit breakthrough for a band that came up with their own sound in a time when most artists seem to operate under the notion that "it's all been done." It makes me happy that people are excited about something that feels new.

...

I think Merriweather Post Pavilion is the first really great record they've made, and certainly the most disciplined and focused. At the same time, I think we have a lot of better bands. But those aren't the bands that introduced a new aesthetic for "indie music," such as it is. Maybe the thing I should be saying is actually "music for artsy (mostly white) people in their late teens to early 30s, educated and at least relatively affluent." When I was a teen, that band was Pavement. In the late ’90s/turn of the century, it was Radiohead. In the late ’00s, it's undoubtedly Animal Collective.

I had no argument with Perpetua when I first read this, but seeing Animal Collective live really brought it home. This was a band at the height of confidence—a rare thing to see, more impressive than merely being at the height of talent. These were artists charting new territory, and boldly. 

• Animal Collective: Bluish

Letting it Click

Last week I picked up the new Andrew Bird and Animal Collective, two albums I've been looking forward to for a few months now. It's been kind of refreshing to have them both enter my world. In December I was so distracted by looking back on everything I purchased in 2008, and I've also been on an acquiring spree that has me re-buying or re-listening to old albums that have disappeared from my collection in the last ten years. Anyway, for whatever reason I've been listening to a lot of music, both familiar and not, with only a light-to-medium focus. Now these two albums have come along and have basically pushed everything else out; they're consuming all my time (especially, predictably, the Bird).

I probably listened to Noble Beast and Merriweather Post Pavilion three or four times each before they clicked. Until then they were vaguely good collections of sounds and hooks and random flashes of brilliance. But, like many records (especially the good ones), I had to hear them a few times before I could really pick out what I was loving, what made sense. Listening to them was like hearing a foreign language slowly morph into broken English. (Eventually it will be fluid English, though I'm not there yet with either album. Another way to think of it might be that an album needs to click three times, like a combination lock. As of today Animal Collective has clicked once and Andrew Bird has clicked twice; more on Noble Beast next week, I think.)

I've begun walking to work again—about three miles, or a little under one hour, or one album. Walking to work in the morning, especially at this time of year, when the Southern California weather is crisp and the mornings have the slightest bite to them, is my favorite way to consume an album. It's probably no coincidence that Noble Beast clicked for me the morning I took it for a walk to work. Merriweather Post Pavilion clicked on the same day, when I walked home just as the light went away. I'd forgotten just how pleasurable that is: to just walk with a record. Not work out, not drive, not surf the internet or read, not cook, not anything. Just walk. Me, my headphones, neighborhood streets, a cup of coffee. And one album. It's like my own personal communion with my record collection. The experience can't be shared with anyone.

RIYL MPP

Random bits and pieces of Merriweather Post Pavilion have me thinking of a few kindred sounds. None of these are direct soundalikes to what Animal Collective are doing, but I hear elements of each mixed into their stew.

• Faust: Krautrock (from Faust IV, 1973)
  This one might be a more accurate reference for Strawberry Jam than MPP; nevertheless I think Faust IV a safe recommendation to anyone who likes the last couple Animal Collective albums. The two bands feel like kindred spirits, separated by an ocean and almost four decades. Both are unpredictable, experimental, dramatic, and funny.

• Raymond Scott: Cindy Electronium (1959)

• Philip Glass: Floe (from Glassworks, 1982)
  Listen to the opening of "My Girls"—it reminds me of Glass's circular patterns (though I'm probably giving Animal Collective too much credit; "Floe" is infinitely more complex).

• Bjork, Oceania (from Medúlla, 2004)
  Between the beats and the backing vocals—Wooo!—I hear a direct connection between this song and MPP.

• Tough Alliance: 1981 (from A New Chance, 2007)
  The first time my brilliant wife heard "My Girls" she texted me: "WTF - new Animal Collective is totally Tough Alliance." There are clear surface similarities, though the Tough Alliance are obviously way more interested in teh 80s synth-pop aesthetics.

• Oskar Sala: Concertando Rubato from Elektronische Tanzsuite (1959)
  Something about the intro to "Daily Routine"—maybe it's just those first tentative, random hits of the keyboard, not to mention the tonal similarity. 

For your comparison:

• Animal Collective: Daily Routine

And the video for "My Girls":

Looking Forward

If we could do a cage match between all of the music released in 2008 and the music released in the first three months of 2009, which side would you put your bets on? Looking at MBV’s list of upcoming releases, there are at least two, maybe three or four or five albums that are contenders for best of the year status. Mind you, I’ve heard none of them—it’s just conjecture based on past pleasures. But what else is the internet for? Here’s a rundown of a handful of albums I’m keeping an ear out for.

Andrew Bird, Noble Beast + Useless Creatures (Jan. 20)
Me, excited for an Andrew Bird album? Shocker, I know. My only fear surrounding this album is that it will render my blog redundant. How many years in a row can I wax rhapsodic about Andrew Bird? Let’s try for three, shall we? By the way, don’t sleep on the limited-edition double-disc version. Usually I’d say an album’s worth of bonus instrumentals is not essential—Spoon’s Get Nice! addition to Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga springs to mind as a mildly entertaining but forgettable treat—but Andrew Bird plus a couple guys from Wilco sounds like it could be good. Not to mention all the instrumental tracks coloring the last two Bird albums have been as good as the proper songs.

• Stream the opening track, Oh No

Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavilion (Jan. 20)
I’m a latecomer to Animal Collective, having found pleasure in the band via Strawberry Jam and working my way backward through their catalog. Of everything I’ve heard, I still find Strawberry Jam their most compelling work, so I look forward to MPP as an outgrowth from that. I haven’t heard a lick of this record yet but it’s definitely the most exciting and unpredictable prospect of everything listed here.

A.C. Newman, Get Guilty (Jan. 20)
On the one hand, pretty much everything Carl Newman has done through the New Pornographers has been golden—yes, including Challengers. On the other, Newman’s other solo album, The Slow Wonder, is good but not great. It’s so close to, but not, the New Pornographers. Like coffee without the caffeine. So I’m intrigued enough for the new record and will probably check it out, though I’m not losing my shit in anticipation.

• A.C. Newman: There Are Maybe Ten Or Twelve

Polvo, Cor Crane Secret (Jan. 27)
Volcano Suns, All Night Lotus Party and The Bright Orange Years (Jan. 27)
I’ve had 90s indie rock on the brain for the last couple of months, particularly groups that didn’t seem to make as lasting an impression as one might have predicted back in the day. Polvo and the Volcano Suns both fall into this category, so I’m glad to see these reissues hitting shelves. I feel like there’s a lot of fifteen- or twenty-year-old indie rock just waiting to be rediscovered. Maybe it’s these bands, maybe it’s others, but I do predict a collective revisiting of the 90s canon soon.

• Polvo: Can I Ride
• Volcano Suns: Jak

Beirut, March of the Zapotec (Feb. 17)
Though I liked The Flying Cup Club, arguably even more than Beirut’s debut, I was still left lukewarm on Zach Condon the songwriter. I summarized that feeling in this post. Part of me feels that Zapotec will be a kind of final test for my tolerance of Beirut. He’s gone to Mexico for inspiration this time around! It feels like too much of a shtick. If his overall prowess as a crafter of great songs has improved, then it won’t matter. Good is good. But that remains to be seen.

Neko Case, Middle Cyclone (Mar. 3)
Unlike Carl Newman, Neko Case’s solo material is a world apart from her contributions to the New Pornographers, so I’m considerably more excited for Middle Cyclone than I am for Get Guilty. 2006’s Fox Confessor Brings the Flood was an incredibly slow burner for me. Despite buying it when it came out, it wasn’t until earlier this year that the album truly revealed itself to me. I appreciate that Case has grown beyond her Patsy Cline croon into a more mature songwriter. Hopefully she’s continuing on that trajectory (though I wouldn’t mind a few more uptempo numbers this time around).

Midlake, Courage of Others (TBA)
Peter Bjorn & John, TBA (TBA)
Not sure if these will come out by the end of March or not, but they're right up there with Andrew Bird and Animal Collective for most-anticipated album of the year. I spent most of 2007 listening to The Trials of Van Occupanther and Writer's Block. Unlike Bird and Animal Collective, I’m more anxious about this record—that is, less confident that the follow-up will equal or surpass the previous peak. I want these albums to blow my mind (especially the Midlake). Will they?

There's plenty of other albums on MBV's list; what's got you excited?

A More Accurate Best of 08

Okay, so the requisite best 08 release list is behind us, as well as a rundown of some of my favorite discoveries of the year, plus my post on my most beloved record, personally, this year. Still, none are totally accurate. Lost in the cracks are the more recent albums that don't really fit into either category. In this year's case, that means adding three albums from 2007 that I didn't get to until 2008. Here's my list of my personal favorite albums of the year. (Again, the logic of the ranking gets a little fluid around number six or so.) Links go to any long-form posts I might have written about the albums in the last year.

1. Andrew Bird & the Mysterious Production of Eggs (2005)

• Andrew Bird: Sovay

2. Okkervil River, The Stage Names (2007)

• Okkervil River: The Plus Ones

3. Animal Collective, Strawberry Jam (2007)

• Animal Collective: For Reverand Green

4. Brian Eno, Another Green World (1975)

• Brian Eno: The Big Ship

5. Fleet Foxes, s/t (2008)
See also my original review.

6. Fiery Furnaces, Widow City (2007)

• Fiery Furnaces: The Philadelphia Grand Jury

7. Monks, Black Monk Time (1966)
See also this post featuring five videos from a Monks performance in '68.

8. The Lovin' Spoonful, Anthology (1965-69)

• The Lovin' Spoonful: Nashville Cats

9. The Ruby Suns, Sea Lion (2008)

• The Ruby Suns: There Are Birds

10. Vampire Weekend, s/t (2008)
See also this post, in which I lament the missed opportunity for New England synergy in pop culture.

11. Little Joy, s/t (2008)

12. United States of America, s/t (1968)

• The United States of America: I Won't Leave My Wooden Wife for You, Sugar

This Week's Soundtrack

Secret Machines, September 000, Now Here is Nowhere, Ten Silver Drops, and s/t
Animal Collective, Feels
Françoise Hardy, La question
Of Montreal, Skeletal Lamping

• Animal Collective: Banshee Beat

The 12 Stages of Grief Mixtape

[Brief disclaimer: This is, I think, the last post of this nature. I promise more lighthearted fare next week...]

I was back home taking care of my dad, then dealing with the funeral and otherwise putting things in order, for about three weeks total. (It felt like three months.) When I returned to work last week, greeted by flowers and cards and kindness from my many co-workers, one of them—who has no idea I'm a nerd for music or that I have this blog or used to be in a band or used to run a performance space—offered to make me a mix of cathartic music. She claimed that certain aggressive songs helped her get through similar times. I told her thanks but no thanks: I was in the country music phase of my 12 Stages of Grief Mixtape.

It was just an off-the-cuff joke, but it made me think about my listening habits not just over the last few weeks but the last few months. I've obliquely made mention of it here in the past though hadn't (until earlier this week) come out and said what it was I was dealing with.

I first noticed the way my listening habits were being affected around the beginning of the year. This is the point at which my dad seemed perfectly healthy, though the inevitability of what was going to happen had been made plain by a phalanx of doctors. Because he did not seem outwardly sick, visiting Dad was not a sad experience—we'd go out, barbecue in the back yard, watch sports on TV, do the usual. There was no dwelling on the bad news, no urgent heart-to-heart talks; just laughter and crossword puzzles.

Yet once I returned home, four hours away, I'd find myself gravitating to a certain kind of music. It was hazy, hypnotic, gauzelike, perhaps with some percussive undercurrent. So, a lot of krautrock. Animal Collective's "For Reverend Green" fit the bill in a big way. Of course I wasn't in the mood for happy music, but I also wasn't in the mood for sad music. I wanted some sort of emotionless music. Something that could enevelop me and keep the world on pause or at a distance. I took long walks with this kind of music droning in my headphones, not really seeing the world outside, simply trusting my body to take me down familiar streets.

• Animal Collective, "For Reverend Green"
• Can, "Father Cannot Yell"
• Leonard Cohen, "Avalanche"
• The Ruby Suns, "Remember"
• Spiritualized, "Shine a Light"

None of these songs fall into the same genre, yet they all have that sort of enveloping feeling. Sonically they somehow embrace you without feeling comforting.

By this time last month, though, I needed comfort. I coincidentally picked up Andrew Bird's Mysterious Production of Eggs just a few days prior to the call from home, asking me to come up. I listened to the album on the drive up more or less for the first time, easing into it the same way I did Armchair Apocrypha—that is, it felt inviting at first but exhausting by the end. I knew that repeated listens would heal that. Eggs is a slower album; it feels more like Armchair's second half than its first. For my state of mind, I welcomed the lack of faster-paced numbers.

• Andrew Bird, "Sovay"

I've already written about why the album turned out to be just what I needed. Dad was declining rapidly; he was mentally sharp but physically spent when I first arrived, meaning I had a lot heavy lifting to do—getting him from his bed to his wheelchair and vice versa. It was an emotionally draining experience, to say the least, and became harder and harder each day. I continued to take those long walks but this time I needed songs that felt more soothing, warmer.

• Andrew Bird, "Masterfade"

I listened to Eggs and nothing else for at least a week straight. I guess it turned out to be my wallowing record. I'm still listening to it almost daily, though at least now I'm alternating between that and other albums. It helps that I'm back in L.A. again, with my full music collection to choose from and more opportunities to be out, listening.

Thus I unconsciously started mixing country music into my daily consumption. And when my co-worker got me quipping about mixtapes I had a sort of Freudian epiphany—that maybe my listening habits were still being shaped by my dad. He was a huge country fan, mostly bluegrass and 60s-70s style. Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, old-timey stuff.

It's hard for me to get more specific than that, though. Unlike the folky stuff he liked (which I've already written about), Dad's country tastes were exiled to his car stereo. Neither my mom nor his second wife liked it, so he kept it there. I think of his country music tastes as being more personal to him and more mysterious to me. I can't go out and buy the album I know he loved. I just have to guess, and make due with my own meager collection, most of which comes from a fairly brief alt-country phase in the late-90s/early-00s and a spate of downloading over the last few months.

• Jimmie Rodgers, "In the Jailhouse Now"
• Neko Case, "John Saw That Number"
• Gillian Welch, "Winter's Come and Gone"
• Buck Owens, "My Heart Skips a Beat"
• Willie Nelson, "My Own Peculiar Way"

That's okay though. I'm not really listening to this stuff to continue wallowing. For the most part I'm skipping past the aching ballads, opting instead for the upbeat numbers. Those are the kind of tunes Dad liked, I know that much. Right now, me too.

My Listening Hours: The Best of January–March

Okkervil River, The Stage Names
Okkervil River should have always been a band I liked. They have all the right ingredients: strong songwriting, great lyrics, nice variety. Yet my enjoyment has always been tentative—I'd download a track whenever one came up on a blog, and I'd like the song, but I'd never pull the trigger at the record store. I couldn't escape the suspicion that they were secretly mediocre—positive that all the songs I hadn't heard would be morose, meandering downers. I've voiced this suspicion before, but thanks to commenters assuring me otherwise, I finally took a shot with The Stage Names in December. In a way it was a touch leap to take, because this album's lead single, and leadoff track, "Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe," was probably one of my least favorite Okkervil River I'd encountered. There's something too melodramatic, too premeditated about it.

Hearing the full album for the first time, then, didn't get off to a great start. But then! The Stage Names quickly takes off on a string of outstanding tracks. The propulsive march of "Unless It's Kicks," the energy of "Is There a Hand to Take Hold of the Scene"—all the way to the end of the album. "Savannah Smiles" is a total button-pusher, like  the most manipulative  Oscar-baiting movie, but it succeeds  (I admit I'm a sucker for songs about fathers). "A Girl in Port" is a joy, lyrically, like sidling up to Will Sheff's barstool as he tells some tales. And my current-favorite "Plus Ones" is like a game—I'm still trying to catch all the references Sheff is making.

A couple of these songs I'd downloaded a while ago, but on their own they just didn't do it for me. As one of my commenters noted, Okkervil River is best consumed by the album, not by the track. Each part is made stronger by the sum. If I'd heard The Stage Names sooner, it would have been in my top albums of the year. In fact, it would have been squarely in the top two.

Ruby Suns, Sea Lion
I'd never heard of the Ruby Suns until my wife stumbled across them while searching for something else. She heard one track and sent off some dollars to Sub Pop for the full-length, and a week later it arrived. I forget just how refreshing it can be to hear a full album—not just a single song—completely cold. People are so used to dipping their toe in with an mp3 here, an iPod commercial there, that you typically buy an album already knowing at least one song, and therefore prepared for the overall sound. Not so with the Ruby Suns. They could've been mambo or math rock for all I knew.

That said, Sea Lion didn't knock me out on first listen. In fact it kinda floated right past me. Chalk it up to the occasional spacey song, the occasional substitute lead singer, and the overall layer of sounds and instruments. Despite being more or less a pseudonym for one guy, Ryan McPhun, the Ruby Suns sounds like a collective. Lots of voices, lots of instruments. In fact, speaking of collectives, the Ruby Suns seem to be some kind of spiritual brethren of the Elephant 6 bands. Happily, though, the Ruby Suns don't sound indebted to 60s pop—merely influenced, including by 60s acts like Os Mutantes (check "Tane Mahuta"—but to understand the variety of the album, also check "Remember").

Now I've owned Sea Lion for a few weeks, and like the best kind of album it's getting better with each and every listen. I'm almost ready to declare it my favorite album of 2008 so far. The complexities of Sea Lion have begun to reveal themselves, such as the way the vocal melody for "Ole Rinka" pops up four songs later as the instrumental hook for "Kenya Dig It." That's just one example; in short, Sea Lion is an interesting album, packed with musical ideas and full of pop hooks. It's like a perfectly cohesive mixtape: a lot of variety but glued together by some underlying similarities—and not too long, either.

Animal Collective, Strawberry Jam
I've mentioned in the past that my irrational preconceived notions kept me from ever investigating Animal Collective, so Strawberry Jam marks my first real encounter with the band, despite the handful of critically acclaimed albums behind them. I've been won over. I'm officially kicking myself that I was such a bastard about getting into these guys.

I like this album a lot—like Okkervil River, this would make it to my best-of list if I were to revise it—but I have to point out that Strawberry Jam is buoyed tremendously by three tracks in particular: "Peacebone," "For Reverend Green," and "Fireworks." The latter two in particular hold the whole thing up, coming as they do in the middle of the album one after another, both possessing similar characterstics (oohing choruses, hypnotic rhythms). They are the heart of the album and they mask some of the other (shorter and less captivating) songs. "For Reverend Green" especially has really struck a personal nerve for me. Perhaps fodder for another post, but I think the song will be one of those tunes I'll strongly associate with a specific point in my life.

Beach House, Devotion
I still feel guilty that my review (which includes an mp3 for "Gila") wound up sounding more negative than I'd intended. I'm increasingly enamoured with Beach House.

Vampire Weekend, s/t
Okay everyone, it's been almost two months since I advised you all to chill on reading, writing, and opining about Vampire Weekend. Did you? Did your hatred of their colonialist shenanigans wane? Did your loathing of their upper-class signifiers relax? Did you enjoy the simplicity of their easygoing, tuneful pop confections? Don't tell me: you did, but then Saturday Night Live and MTV ruined it all over again. Stupid backlash! It's still a good album. I'd offer you an mp3, but come on; you gotta know by now what you think.

Related: this was my favorite Vampire Weekend/Gilmore Girls scenario from the comments to Friday's post:

Emily sets Rory up on a date with one of her DAR friends' sons/nephews, who turns out to be Ezra Koenig. He invites Rory to see his band, she brings Lane, and they leave right away because of Rostam Batmanglij's awful scarf. Rory and Lorelai then go on to have an extended conversation about scarves, leading to an episode long joke of Lorelai making references to "Scarfie."

Come back tomorrow and I'll run down the rest of my listening hours for the last three months. But first—later today you'll get some bonus tracks.

Assessing the Assessments (More Best Ofs)

As previously noted, I've been clicking through Largehearted Boy's exhaustive collection of best-of posts, downloading samples of many albums that have been on my radar all year but for one reason or another I never pulled the trigger on. I've been doing this slowly but steadily since the Boy started compiling lists back in November. Feeling I've now surveyed the 07 pop landscape a little better, I thought I'd offer some further opinions on what I'm viewing as the general consensus/usual suspects that didn't make it onto my own best-of list. Some of these I've heard the entire album, some I haven't. I leave it to you to defend them and/or to push me to the point of (gasp!) paying money for the complete albums. And of course, if I've still left out what you consider the best album of the year, let me know in the comments.

Animal Collective, Strawberry Jam (listened to 7 of 9 tracks)
Encountering these guys very, very early on in their career (at which point I made numerous negative associations), compounded by previously hearing only the god-awful Campfire Songs in full, I gotta say I've been absolutely resistant to jumping on the Animal Collective (and affiliates) bandwagon. Finally in the last few months I've recognized my biases as irrational and I've begun to listen to tracks from Strawberry Jam on their own merit (here's one: "Peacebone"). I totally get why these guys are so talked about; as someone at another blog said (sorry, can't remember which one), there's a pretty good chance that this moment in music history will be identified by the sound of Animal Collective and the many bands in their sonic universe (Grizzly Bear, Yeasayer, Panda Bear, etc.)—reverbed-to-fuck, often harmonizing vocals; unpredictable song structures and dense layers of instrumentation and sounds; and a hodgepodge of influences ranging from psychedelia to folk to spastic hardcore to electronica to first-generation emo to Zappa, 13th Floor Elevators, and... no, not the fucking Beach Boys. That said, perhaps I just feel too familiar with the things influencing Animal Collective to shit myself over how original they are. Or maybe those negative associations just haven't entirely gone away.

Ultimate verdict: accolades deserved. Once I get over myself, I will likely purchase this (and one or two previous) album(s).

Arcade Fire, Neon Bible (purchased/listened to entire album)
I love Funeral to death. I think it will go down in history as one of the albums of the decade, and will influence innumerable young kids to start bands and change the world and all that. But Neon Bible? I'm shocked it is getting as much love as it is. This album is boring; this album is really boring. The lyrics are mostly idiotic and the production is muddled from beginning to end. I had mixed feelings on the album when it first came out, trying to find the goodness wherever I could out of love for their debut. But the fact is this album gets worse the further away I get from it. I'm going to bet that everyone showing love to Neon Bible was converted by a live show and not by the recording itself.

Ultimate verdict: accolades undeserved. Don't believe the hype.

Battles, Mirrored (listened to 6 of 11 tracks)
Best math rock album I've ever heard, though coming from me that could be damning with faint praise. In truth "Atlas" is easily--easily!--one of the best songs of the year, though the rest of (what I've heard of) the album does not ascend to the same heights. "Atlas" works so well because the virtuosity of the players never gets in the way of the fact that this is a party jam. But suppressing the sheen of virtuosity can be a difficult thing to sustain over an entire album.

Ultimate verdict: accolades deserved, though I trust lists that put it in their top 20 more than those that put it in the top 10.

Josh Ritter, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter (listened to 5 of 14 tracks)
Ritter seems like a pretty straight-down-the-middle songwriter. He's never been on my radar before, but my ears perked up once I started seeing this on so many people's lists. He seems like a strong, if not totally distinctive, songwriter.

Ultimate verdict: undecided.

The National, Boxer (listened to 5 of 12 tracks)
Why does the National make me feel so unsure about myself? I can't figure them out; better put, I can't figure their fans out. What I've heard of Boxer is fine, just fine, but what are you people hearing that is making you lose your shit for them? Occasionally I'll hear a spark of something interesting in their songs, but the general tone seems a little one-note and not very engaging.

Ultimate verdict: accolades undeserved, until someone explains otherwise.

Of Montreal, Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? (listened to 8 of 12 tracks)
Of Montreal has a discography I've yet to truly navigate; I have an early, lo-fi album (Cherry Peel) and a later album (Satanic Panic in the Attic). But whenever I check their bin at the record store I see many other albums and I have no clue as to their chronology nor their quality. All I really know is that Satanic Panic is brilliant. Hissing Fauna... is pretty good. There's nothing bad about it but I can't find a toehold. Ultimately that has to count against the album, doesn't it? For a band that is so aggressively pop, I'm just not getting hooked. Then again I've only heard half the album. Does it work better as a whole? Do some songs need to work in context?

Ultimate verdict: undecided. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Okkervil River, The Stage Names (listened to 6 of 9 tracks)
I have many Okkervil River songs on my iTunes, though no complete albums. I sense that that is where I go wrong with these guys. I find that I either really like or am really ambivalent to their songs. That's why I never did purchase Black Sheep Boy (despite "All the Latest Toughs") and why I've yet to buy The Stage Names (despite "Unless It's Kicks"). I have the strong suspicion that the majority of their songs are the ones I'm ambivalent to. There's something very mid/late-90s Drag City about Okkervil River, calling to mind also-rans like Appendix Out or Lullabye for the Working Class (remember them?). Those bands were (rightfully) regarded as second rate compared to Smog, Palace, Silver Jews, etc. I've yet to feel with confidence that Okkervil River transcends.

Ultimate verdict: undecided. Willing to be convinced.

Panda Bear, Person Pitch (listened to 4 of 8 tracks)
See above about Animal Collective, as all my reservations can be repeated here. I've had this album's virtues shoved down my throat by nearly every blog I read, which of course makes me rebel. Ultimately, however, I can't deny this album: it is unique and sophisticated and ambitious. But please, please, please, let's not mention Brian Wilson. Panda Bear is not fucking influenced by Brian Wilson, not in any substantial way (unless it's evident on the songs I haven't heard). Just because there are multiple vocal parts on "Comfy in Nautica" and "Bros" does not mean we've got the second coming of "God Only Knows." In terms of both melody and harmony, it's an insult to Wilson to put Panda Bear in the same room. PB has plenty of other virtues as a songwriter, but few if any which correlate to the Beach Boys. That I've heard, at least.

Ultimate verdict: accolades deserved, if misguided.

The Shins, Wincing the Night Away (purchased/listened to the entire album)
Like Neon Bible, I'm surprised to see this album popping up on lists (though thankfully, at least, not at the top of anyone's list). It's a pretty good album, sure, but it lacks real ambition. The band made a few minor adjustments to their approach on a couple songs in an attempt at setting Wincing apart from their previous work, but none were terribly refreshing or successful. Unlike Neon Bible, however, Wincing redeems itself the further away it gets from critical ears. I like most the songs when they show up on my iPod. I don't skip them, and I even sing along. But that compliment hardly qualifies Wincing for best-of-the-year status.

Ultimate verdict: accolades undeserved. A good album but not a great album.

Vampire Weekend (listened to 7 tracks)
Allergic to most blog hype, I ignored VW (along with Black Kids, et al.) when they came up earlier in the year. Listening to them now, without attaching any sort of Next Big Thing expectations, I actually like this a lot. There's nothing really groundbreaking here—it's just indie pop with a refreshing sound (example: "Oxford Comma"). Actually, that's how I would have described the Shins a few years ago!

Ultimate verdict: accolades deserved.

White Stripes, Icky Thump (purchased/listened to the entire album)
This album is a turd.

Ultimate verdict: accolades undeserved! Do not trust any list with this album anywhere on it—top ten, top hundred, whatever. If it's on someone's list then they didn't listen to enough music this year.

Wilco, Sky Blue Sky (listened to 8 of 12 tracks)
I consider myself a fan of Wilco, yet when mp3s started surfacing for Sky Blue Sky I was underwhelmed. "Impossible Germany" was wanky and a little boring. And I could've sworn my reaction was mirrored by many tepid reviews upon the album's release. Yet when it started showing up again and again on best-of lists, I gave it another chance and sampled more tracks. It's certainly growing in my estimation, thanks to songs like "Either Way" and "What Light." It's straight-down-the-middle mild country-rock, but it grows.

Ultimate verdict: accolades deserved, though I'm not convinced it should be placing quite as high on everyone's lists as it is.

Have I left anything out (other than MIA, who I just can't get excited about, sorry)? What was your favorite album of the year? What am I wrong about above? (I'm willing to be corrected if you've got a convincing argument.)