Yo La Tengo: I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One (1997)

(Matador)

!!! A+ RECORDING !!!

Fuck defining the times. Yo La Tengo never were revolutionaries or some telling element of "the zeitgeist." It was always, in a strange way, musical hedonism -- a freewheeling snowball of influences and idiosyncratic fascinations that formed them into a singular, strangely warm entity. Early on, even on a masterpiece like the mostly-covers album Fakebook, it was like you were listening to your friends play music. That wasn't because those records weren't crafty, it was because the group could barely contain how much of a blast they were having playing together and forming their weird impulses into songs, singles, albums (and live shows, where they were really a force to be reckoned with even then). Little surprise that this was already by the mid-'90s one of the most acclaimed alternative-rock underdogs since R.E.M. slipped over to an arena rock phase at Warners.

Something changed, though, with the band's 1993 move to Matador Records and -- just earlier -- their acquisition of permanent bass player (22 years and counting, now) James McNew. On their first four, arguably five albums, this band was the stage for guitarist and screamy everydude Ira Kaplan's fixations and, well, we can't really say demons, but whatever the polite version of demons is. Though drummer and sometime singer Georgia Hubley was prominent in the mix, it really seems to have taken McNew's presence for either of these two to find their unfettered and confident voice, and certainly for their collective voice to become undeniable. Without ever really worrying too much about the design or direction of all this, the trio just melded together and formed into a unit with almost frighteningly flawless synergy. It seemed that they found one another at the perfect time to initiate a creative zenith that, at times, appeared destined to go on forever.

So I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One is not their first great record, or even the first great Yo La Tengo record in this particular cycle, but it is perhaps the most dramatic artifact to place against their first two recordings, the smarmy and tentative Ride the Tiger and the genuinely delightful low-key folk rocker New Wave Hot Dogs, and realize that the greatest achievement is in both what's changed and what hasn't.

There is never a sense of formalism to the band's work, and there arguably never would be. It still has a casual, tossed off quality in both composition and performance; it never seems as if it's the work of people who don't care, just people who have no interest whatsoever in putting on airs. This music is almost deceptively approachable -- deceptively because as calm and collected and friendly as it may be, it is eye-wideningly, gut-splittingly brilliant. It invites or requires no excuses of homespun pleasantness -- it's music so fiercely restless it simply doesn't have time to be arrogant about it. Expect some statement about this from them and Yo La Tengo are more likely to form their grandness into some sort of a sheepish joke. They define the idea that the worst thing you can do to your creativity is talk about it -- they just do it, taking it all very seriously, and never look away from straight ahead.

I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One builds on the prior album, Electr-O-Pura, mostly in the quantity and size of its performances, as well as its ruthless eclecticism. There are covers and experiments and strange rambling instrumentals in addition to real honest-to-god songs. Parts of it were recorded live in the studio to capture some of the electricity of the band's stage presence, and while judicious editing is sometimes their strong suit, Hubley, Kaplan and McNew mostly err on the side of overwhelming bigness and sprawl here. The idea is that the record is romantically and emotionally varied enough to hypnotize you, and snap you out of your strange trance at key moments, thus giving the entire album the quality of a wonderful drone -- even on the songs that don't actually drone. They drone when they need to.

Most would say it remains the quintessential Yo La Tengo record, certainly square one for most new fans. It was about a year and a half old when I first heard it. We had a mediocre modern rock station in my town and toward the end of the night they would play this thing called "The Final Hour" and "My Little Corner of the World," of all things, showed up and hooked me. As mentioned in the piece linked there, a teenage rock fan expects things to fall into a certain alignment; you have to retrain yourself to even accept the idea that a band can sound like themselves without having "a sound." Once you understand, somehow it's the most enchanting thing.

In exploring rock music you run into some performers that can't be pinned down, and almost invariably, those are the ones worth listening to. People always mention the Velvet Underground, and it's fair in the sense that both bands are enormously vital, warm and restless. Having known the Velvets only through aesthetic means -- unable then to sense the weight of their literary and raw imagination -- I favored clearer comparisons. My Bloody Valentine was clear from the single "Sugarcube," and MBV mastermind Kevin Shields remixed their "Autumn Sweater" for an EP this same year. I could sense Pavement a little in "Stockholm Syndrome," the Byrds in "Return to Hot Chicken," the Beach Boys on "Center of Gravity" (for its spirit if not its sound, and more on the "Little Honda" cover in a bit).

The line of description I've come to favor is probably not a popular one, but the truth hurts. Continuing legacies is not what rock & roll is about, and let's be entirely clear on this: Yo La Tengo is an outstanding band, maybe the best one running today, and they are a completely original voice. That's precisely why, despite their small-scale indie context, I think of the Beatles when I hear them. If you have trouble with that, start with both bands' cover versions. On Live at the Star Club, the Beatles threaten to destroy the eponymous venue with a roaring "Sweet Little Sixteen," a song that -- while wonderful and full of life on Chuck Berry's single -- doesn't explode to half that magnitude in its original incarnation. Compare "Little Honda," an intricate and playful Brian Wilson production for certain, but Yo La Tengo seem to inhabit it, transferring it to a CBGB's shoegazer-Velvets hybrid, taking in a lifetime of rock mythology to complement an outstanding composition. No matter if the Beach Boys classic (or the Hondells single, which prompts Kaplan to snarl "champ" instead of "matchless") remains definitive, because whatever the results, the point is that in their moment, Yo La Tengo are more at one with the song than they are paying homage to it.

So continue on to their originals, all of them exhibiting lyrical wisdom and musical subtlety that still jumps out and bites you when it desires. They can make the sweetest pop songs you've heard in years -- china-delicate "Shadows," grinning-heartbreak bossa nova "Center of Gravity" -- or they can squeal with ten minutes of the intense instrumental "Spec Bebop." I think about the way Beatles singles like "Day Tripper" and "Rain" exploded with pop warmth yet always included something off-kilter and bizarre that made the songs all the more endearing. This band does it without hesitation, understanding the appeal of adventure and the joy of oddity, and I Can Hear offers an album-size expansion of these ideas, which is why it is the ideal starting point for anyone who wants to know what the hell this group "sounds like."

It's not out of restraint, though, that this forms probably the most accessible point of their output. I think just about every decade offers some LP that reveals an artist at some kind of peak, willing to try anything and not afraid to put it all out in the open comprehensively. What's more, everything the performer tries not only works but redefines boundaries and musical ideas. The '60s and '70s are obvious -- the White Album, basically undeniable, and the Clash's London Calling, which may as well be considered the seminal LP-sized statement of rock prowess. The '80s are tougher, but I nominate Sign o' the Times, Prince's most fully realized and eclectic effort. The '90s? In case you couldn't figure out where this paragraph was headed, I'll present the evidence.

"Moby Octopad" clashes electrofunk grooves with morbid vocals and guitar wheezing plus a loopy instrumental break; "Sugarcube" is the rock statement, with Kaplan's guitar heroics but soft-as-snow vocals; "Deeper into Movies," named after a Pauline Kael book, stars Georgia Hubley at the top of her lungs over a galaxy of noise that fills a room; "Shadows" follows mournful marital woes with the glimmer of hope in an electrified trumpet. And if you like, there's the massive "We're an American Band" (not the Grand Funk song), throwing it all into a single package. It's here that the record climaxes, and as Kaplan's space-rock solo soars into oblivion, louder and more beautiful than anything you can remember in that moment, lyrical like Verlaine or Coltrane, it's one of those moments when your love for a performance or a band can seem so absolute that you don't know how to express or respond to it. Truthfully, there's no moment of ear-popping otherworldliness like this anywhere else in the band's catalog; this is a collection, in some ways, of singular ideas and moments.

But to mistake mere singularity (or innovation) for greatness would be a crime indeed, and what marks those songs is -- here's where Lou Reed comes in -- the same thing that marks "Head Held High" or "Rock & Roll" or any of the Loaded-era conventional bids for commercial justice: they are simply beautifully written and will never leave your head. Instant standards like they made back when Leiber and Stoller were there to produce 'em. So let's cruelly pinpoint things and say that "Stockholm Syndrome" -- McNew's first lead vocal on an LP with the band -- is classic Brit-Invasion-derived acoustic indie, with that almost classicist structure of the awesome electric solo in the break -- if so, it jumps directly to the front of the pack anyway to become, in all honesty, one of the finest songs of its era.

Or maybe you've heard "Damage" before, certainly if you've given Loveless a careful listen -- almost a dirge, full of atmosphere and echo and airy Eno percussive effects amid an omnipresent wall of feedback. But its tale of communication breakdown is full of such clarity and perceptive strength that, on conviction and pure beauty (Georgia's background cooing) alone, you have a song that in many ways is superior to anything Kevin Shields has written. It's just that Yo La Tengo's attention span is not made for a record like Loveless As soon as the point is made, it's on to the next idea like "Train in Vain" seguing into "I Will" seguing into "Forever in My Life," each as sincerely meant and imaginative as the other.

If the instrumentals on this record can be written off as mood pieces, it's at the price of a good bit of the album's impact on the listener, the way it absorbs and seduces with detail. I've heard people call "Let's Go Away for Awhile" a mood piece too, you know. "Return to Hot Chicken" is like falling into bed or waking up slowly, and the transitional "Green Arrow" is a stirring atmosphere of lonely steel guitar that could go on for far longer than it does. And this wouldn't be a Yo La Tengo record without the big long jinx moment, "Spec Bebop." It's a joy to revel in all three, and they all belong.

It's tempting to skirt over "One PM Again" and "The Lie and How We Told It," but it's the little things that count. Maybe these seem initially like undistinguished tidbits, but they take their time, and once "One PM Again" reaches you you'll be glad. And "The Lie and How We Told It" is subtly indicative of the band's secret weapons: their voices. Here and on the tremendous closing harmonies of "Moby Octopad," they find as much lyricism in their wordless whispering (McNew epecially) as Kaplan does in that emotional fit at the close of "American Band." As for "My Little Corner of the World," well, we need a closing statement, don't we? And this one says an awful lot in its gentle way.

Most of Yo La Tengo's albums prior to this one -- and many since -- dive into one of their characteristics to uncover a world of nuance. For this album, they exposed their every impulse and created something divine that sits apart, certainly in their catalog, but equally in the heart of modern pop music: it's a moment to the breathtaking beauty in its own chaotic loudness, the pained complexity in all things that seem initially smooth and sweet. Nothing here seems simple, or arrived at accidentally.

Hearing it again to put this post together I played it on headphones and was gobsmacked all over again -- just thinking trite things about what a powerful, creative and absorbing band this is, how gigantic the album is even at its gentlest. Playing it on tiny computer speakers last night it seemed to keep me company and take me back to the times when I fell in love with it. And on vinyl tonight, played as loud as I could get away with, it applied itself perfectly to right now. We had a winter storm the last few days and as I got home, the wet white mush was falling from the roof in blocks of ice (hitting the ground and crumbling like sugarcubes) and strange-looking liquid drips. A strange heat seemed to drift from all this, like spring was physically starting to appear. When the nervousness of "Autumn Sweater" and the wounded moving-on of "Stockholm Syndrome" blared forth, I remembered again that this album's moment won't pass. It defines my times, I don't know or care beyond that.

[Expanded version of an essay I posted about this album somewhere else roundabout 2005.]

[SEE ALSO:]
Popular Songs (2009)
Stupid Things EP (2012)
Fade (2013)

Chatham County Line: IV (2008)

(Yep Roc)

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

No doubt there are bluegrass purists who'd object to something or other that Chatham County Line does on their most consistent and emotionally rich album. If there's anyone who can argue with the steady, straight-ahead production of the great Chris Stamey or the airy but tight acoustic arrangements, though, it's hard to understand how. When they're playing together as a band, there's no denying or minimizing their direct command of their form and their adventurous interpretation of it. They can surprise you, as Route 23 had already proven, but they can also break your heart. That's just musically.

It's in songwriting terms that the band seems a cut above, but it's also inevitably here that they will be seen by some as a compromised entity. These are pop songs, through and through. In contrast to the bulk of bands that have been labeled "alt-country" over the last decade or two, including some very very good ones, CCL doesn't really attempt to directly ape traditional songforms or structures. What they do instead, particularly through the contributions of the guitarist and chief composer Dave Wilson, is create immaculately crafted songs that happen to sync brilliantly with their musical interests. (It doesn't hurt that Wilson has one of the most beautiful and instantly appealing voices in the genre.) The hard-won optimism of "Thanks" or the simplicity and beauty of "She" could serve their considerable resonance just as well outside of the confines of the band's traditional sound. That doesn't mean they don't deserve kudos for sticking to what they do well, just that these are not just good recordings, they're great songs. And for a pop lifer who only dabbles in modern country and folk, that makes a big difference.

The songs that most clearly resemble the fine Route 23 are fun and tough-minded. Closer "Thanks" is all gruff, sweet hard-won optimism with a touch of the sardonic, "Country Boy/City Boy" has bounce and sting like the songs that likely led you to them in the beginning, "Let It Rock" reminds that the simple pleasures of beat and swagger know neither age nor genre, and Chandler Holt's contribution "Whipping Boy" makes clear that there's more than one gifted singer and writer in the band (but we knew that). Truthfully, these songs are even the best place to hear how splendidly the band plays together -- I'm still kicking myself for missing them live (twice now!).

But when the record lays everything on the line for pure melody and lyricism, it moves beyond simple floating of skill and grace, and becomes breathtaking. "Birmingham Jail," about the 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing, is almost certainly the best song about the Civil Rights era that a white person will write in this century -- full of sober and novelistic imagery, empathy, journalistic wisdom, and an edge-of-seat intensity from the band. It has the gravity, the rage, the absence of look-at-me flippancy to feel like a potential folk classic.

And yet the smaller, more intimate ideas and recordings are just as moving in their fashions: the alcoholism lament "Sweet Eviction" is the rare folk song that gives a sense of setting as strong musically as verbally ("Stumble by the cathouse / Where the women dance for dollars you made while dreaming"). The melodic permanence, intimacy, wit of "The Carolina" and "Chip of a Star," one driving and gorgeous, the other clipped and warm (and somewhat reminiscent of Sky Blue Sky-era Wilco), connect to us almost automatically, without falling back on the alt-country tropes of cheap machismo and down-home cliché. You feel an urge to carry these songs with you, to know them back to front. And it doesn't take very long.

[SEE ALSO:]
Wildwood (2010)

Camera Obscura: Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi (2001)

(Andmoresound [orig] / Merge [rerelease])

RECOMMENDED

Owing more to fellow Glasgow artist Stuart Murdoch than to the punchy girl group pop that would inform the aesthetic of their more accomplished later albums, the debut by Camera Obscura is a melodicist's dream but also a surprisingly cold, bleak affair. It piles one midtempo song atop another -- some lovely, some rather dull -- and all of its beauty is in the psychodrama instigated by Tracyanne Campbell. Discovering Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi only in the last few months, I must say it's given me a bit more of an understanding of what sourced the radical drabness of their 2009 record My Maudlin Career.

The album never betters its opening moment, musically or especially lyrically. "Happy New Year" invites little celebration but immediately exposes more heart and truth than some indie-pop writers will for their whole careers: "I am softer than my face would suggest / At times like this I'm at my lowest ebb." What else is there to say, really? Many of the songs feel rather dirgey despite their twee-pop pedigree -- "Pen and Notebook," for starters -- but you put up with a lot here simply because over and above the arrangements, the vocals, words and harmonies make up so much of the difference. A key moment is when "Eighties Fan" opens with a drum-machine "Be My Baby" rip then keens instead of swooning, or when the big sweet duet "Houseboat" turns out to be so mournful you want to hug it. It's not a party record, okay? But nor is If You're Feeling Sinister -- a less flippant comparison than it might seem.

Serving as producer, Murdoch makes little room for the obvious differences in performance style between Camera Obscura and his own band, Belle & Sebastian -- which is supremely ironic since B&S's work would soon make room for sprightlier, bouncier Pursuits than ever before. For all ten cuts (twelve on the canonical expanded version), except during guitarist Kenny McKeeve's too-frequent intrusions, one's overriding takeaway is just wanting to know Campbell more, the same way you wanted to know Paul Westerberg or Ray Davies or Tracey Thorn or, hell, Murdoh more as personalities -- articulate, painfully sad, painfully withdrawn but full of wit and deadpan, she is a joy to listen to, making something stunningly honest and valuably warm of her alienation.

That's the major catch-22 of this album, and of Camera Obscura. On their next two albums the songwriting would get stronger, the melodies catchier, the production loftier, the band immeasurably better. But there's never again a moment of pure intimacy like "Happy New Year." Campbell was already so fully formed as a lyricist and singer here, and the absence of distraction makes this perhaps the best and fullest portrait of her artistry. The special moment of untouched yearning, without the deliberate and self-conscious nostalgia of the Merge and 4AD albums, makes it hard to hold this record's flaws against it -- they help make it a reticently cathartic but never indulgent embodiment of a lovingly hopeless mood, and the beating heart of a true-believing pop composer.

[SEE ALSO:]
My Maudlin Career (2009)
Desire Lines (2013)

The List of Lists 2013

All of the lists below were constructed retroactively around the time I started this blog but have not been revised for their inclusion here. Thus in some ways they are time capsules, but they do incorporate discoveries I've made since then. I plan to do a sweeping overhaul eventually, probably after this 'version' of my favorites has been fully posted.

1960s ALBUMS
1. The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds (Capitol '66)
2. The Beatles (Apple '68)
3. John Coltrane: Giant Steps (Atlantic '60)
4. John Coltrane: A Love Supreme (Impulse! '64)
5. The Beatles: Rubber Soul (Parlophone '65)
6. The Velvet Underground (MGM '69)
7. The Beatles: A Hard Day's Night (Parlophone '64)
8. The Kinks: The Village Green Preservation Society (Reprise '68)
9. Love: Forever Changes (Elektra '67)
10. Otis Redding: Otis Blue (Volt '65)
11. Thelonious Monk: Straight, No Chaser (Columbia '67)
12. Sly & the Family Stone: Stand! (Epic '69)
13. Miles Davis: Sketches of Spain (Columbia '60)
14. With the Beatles (Parlophone '63)
15. Miles Davis: Seven Steps to Heaven (Columbia '63)
16. Beatles for Sale (Parlophone '64)
17. The Byrds: Sweetheart of the Rodeo (Columbia '68)
18. The Velvet Underground: White Light/White Heat (Verve '68)
19. The Zombies: Odessey and Oracle (Columbia '68)
20. John Coltrane: Ballads (Impulse! '62)
21. Howlin' Wolf (Chess '62)
22. Van Morrison: Astral Weeks (Warner Bros. '68)
23. John Coltrane: Om (Impulse! '65)
24. Bob Dylan: Highway 61 Revisited (Columbia '65)
25. The Beach Boys: Friends (Capitol '68)
26. The Kinks: Arthur (Reprise '69)
27. The Beatles: Abbey Road (Apple '69)
28. The Kinks: Something Else (Reprise '67)
29. John Coltrane: Africa/Brass (Impulse! '61)
30. The Beach Boys: Wild Honey (Capitol '67)
31. Ray Charles: Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music Vol. 1 (ABC '62)
32. The Beatles: Please Please Me (Parlophone '63)
33. The Byrds: The Notorious Byrd Brothers (Columbia '68)
34. Sam Cooke: Night Beat (RCA '63)
35. The Flying Burrito Brothers: The Gilded Palace of Sin (A&M '69)
36. Howlin' Wolf: The Real Folk Blues (Chess '66)
37. Miles Davis: In a Silent Way (Columbia '69)
38. The Beatles: Revolver (Parlophone '66)
39. Dusty Springfield: Dusty in Memphis (Atlantic '69)
40. Bob Dylan: Nashville Skyline (Columbia '69)
41. Aretha Franklin: I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You (Atlantic '67)
42. The Kinks: Face to Face (Pye '66)
43. Songs of Leonard Cohen (Columbia '67)
44. The Beach Boys: Smiley Smile (Capitol '67)
45. Miles Davis: Miles Smiles (Columbia '67)
46. Bob Dylan: Blonde on Blonde (Columbia '66)
47. The Beatles: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Parlophone '67)
48. John Coltrane: Ascension (Impulse! '66)
49. The Beach Boys: Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!) (Capitol '65)
50. Bob Dylan: Bringing It All Back Home (Columbia '65)
+ (and how it breaks my heart to exclude:)
Vince Guaraldi: A Charlie Brown Christmas (Fantasy '65)
The Beach Boys: 20/20 (Capitol '69)
The Byrds: Fifth Dimension (Columbia '66)

***

2003 ALBUMS
1. Yo La Tengo: Summer Sun (Matador)
2. Sufjan Stevens: Greetings from Michigan (Asthmatic Kitty)
3. Great Lake Swimmers (weewerk)
4. Jay-Z: The Black Album (Def Jam)
5. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Fever to Tell (Interscope)
6. Missy Elliott: This Is Not a Test! (Elektra)
7. The New Pornographers: Electric Version (Matador)
8. Over the Rhine: Ohio (Back Porch)
9. Casiotone for the Painfully Alone: Twinkle Echo (Tomlab)
10. The Postal Service: Give Up (Sub Pop)
+
The Shins: Chutes Too Narrow (Sub Pop)
Blur: Think Tank (Virgin)
Andrew Bird: Weather Systems (Grimsey)
Belle & Sebastian: Dear Catastrophe Waitress (Matador)
Goldfrapp: Black Cherry (Mute)
Cat Power: You Are Free (Matador)
Outkast: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below (Arista)
The White Stripes: Elephant (V2)
Junior Senior: D-D-Don't Stop the Beat (Atlantic)
eels: Shootenanny! (DreamWorks)
Muse: Absolution (Warner Bros.)
Camera Obscura: Underachievers Please Try Harder (Merge)
The Decemberists: Her Majesty (Kill Rock Stars)
M. Ward: Transfiguration of Vincent (Merge)
The Weakerthans: Reconstruction Site (Epitaph)
The Strokes: Room on Fire (RCA)

1993 ALBUMS
1. A Tribe Called Quest: Midnight Marauders (Jive)
2. Pet Shop Boys: Very (EMI)
3. Blur: Modern Life Is Rubbish (SBK)
4. Yo La Tengo: Painful (Matador)
5. U2: Zooropa (Island)
6. Smashing Pumpkins: Siamese Dream (Virgin)
7. Digable Planets: Reachin' (Elektra)
8. Living Colour: Stain (Epic)
9. New Order: Republic (Warner Bros.)
10. Van Morrison: Too Long in Exile (Polydor)
+
Prince: [love symbol (Warner Bros.)
Janet Jackson: Janet (Virgin)
Matthew Sweet: Altered Beast (Zoo Entertainment)
Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet: Sport Fishin' (Cargo)
De La Soul: Buhloone Mindstate (Tommy Boy)
The Flaming Lips: Transmissions from the Satellite Heart (Warner Bros.)
Björk: Debut (Elektra)

1983 ALBUMS
1. New Order: Power, Corruption & Lies (Factus)
2. R.E.M.: Murmur (I.R.S.)
3. Michael Jackson: Thriller (Epic)
4. The Go-Betweens: Before Hollywood (Rough Trade)
5. Yaz: You and Me Both (Sire)
6. Daniel Johnston: Yip Jump Music (s/r)
7. Katrina & the Waves (Attic)
8. OMD: Dazzle Ships (Virgin)
9. Talking Heads: Speaking in Tongues (Sire)
10. U2: War (Island)
+
The Replacements: Hootenanny (Twin/Tone)
Brian Eno: Apollo (EG)
The Police: Synchronicity (A&M)
Eurythmics: Touch (RCA)
INXS: Shabooh Shoobah (Atlantic)
Van Morrison: Inarticulate Speech of the Heart (Warner Bros.)
Daniel Johnston: Hi, How Are You (s/r)
Madonna (Sire)

1973 ALBUM
1. Stevie Wonder: Innervisions (Tamla)
2. Big Star: Radio City (Ardent)
3. The New York Dolls (Mercury)
4. Marvin Gaye: Let's Get It On (Tamla)
5. Neil Young: Time Fades Away (Reprise) [technically a live album; technically I don't CARRRE]
6. John Cale: Paris 1919 (Reprise)
7. The Stooges: Raw Power (Columbia)
8. Toots & the Maytals: Funky Kingston (Island)
9. Gram Parsons: GP (Reprise)
10. David Bowie: Aladdin Sane (RCA)
+
Wings: Band on the Run (Apple)
Todd Rundgren: A Wizard, a True Star (Bearsville)
Funkadelic: Cosmic Slop (Westbound)
Lou Reed: Berlin (RCA)
The Beach Boys: Holland (Reprise)
Herbie Hancock: Headhunters (Columbia)
Roxy Music: For Your Pleasure (Reprise)
David Bowie: Pin Ups (RCA)
Sly & the Family Stone: Fresh (Epic)

1960-63 ALBUMS NOT MENTIONED IN THE '60S LIST ABOVE
Phil Spector: A Christmas Gift for You (Philles)
John Coltrane: My Favorite Things (Atlantic)
Etta James: At Last! (Argo)
The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan (Columbia)
John Coltrane: Ole Coltrane (Atlantic)
Thelonious Monk: Criss Cross (Columbia)
Vince Guaraldi: Jazz Impressions of 'Black Orpheus' (Fantasy)
Ida Cox & Coleman Hawkins: Blues for Rampart Street (Riverside)
Herbie Hancock: Takin' Off (Blue Note)
The Beach Boys: Surfer Girl (Capitol)

1963 SONGS
(A nonscientific list. With any luck, I will be able soon to make stronger lists, though even with the sloppy nature of my process for this one, you can tell what a glorious period in pop music this was.)
1. The Beatles "All I've Got to Do" (Parlophone LP: With the Beatles)
2. The Chiffons "One Fine Day" (Laurie)
3. The Ronettes "Baby, I Love You" (Philles)
4. The Beatles "She Loves You" (Parlophone/Swan)
5. The Ronettes "Be My Baby" (Philles)
6. The Beatles "I Want to Hold Your Hand" (Parlophone/Capitol)
7. Darlene Love "A Fine, Fine Boy" (Philles)
8. The Beach Boys "In My Room" (Capitol)
9. Marvin Gaye "Can I Get a Witness" (Tamla)
10. Roy Orbison "Blue Bayou" (Monument)
11. Darlene Love "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)" (Philles LP: A Christmas Gift for You)
12. Marvin Gaye "Pride and Joy" (Tamla)
13. Johnny Cash "Ring of Fire" (Columbia)
14. The Beach Boys "Surfer Girl" (Capitol)
15. Dusty Springfield "I Only Want to Be with You" (Philips)
16. The Beatles "There's a Place" (Parlophone LP: Please Please Me / Vee Jay LP: Introducing the Beatles)
17. Sam Cooke "Another Saturday Night" (RCA)
18. The Beatles "This Boy" (Parlophone)
19. Martha and the Vandellas "Heat Wave" (Gordy)
20. The Crystals "Da Doo Ron Ron" (Philles)
21. Bob Dylan "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" (Columbia LP: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan)
22. The Beatles "I'll Get You" (Parlophone/Swan)
23. The Chantays "Pipeline" (Dot)
24. Ben E. King "I (Who Have Nothing)" (Atco)
25. The Surfaris "Wipe Out" (Dot)
26. The Crystals "Then He Kissed Me" (Philles)
27. Roy Orbison "Mean Woman Blues" (Monument)
28. The Beatles "Please Please Me" (Parlophone/Vee Jay)
29. The Crystals "He's Sure the Boy I Love" (Philles)
30. The Trashmen "Surfin' Bird" (Garrett)
31. The Kingsmen "Louie Louie" (Jerden)
32. Jackie Wilson "Baby Workout" (Brunswick)
33. The Beach Boys "Little Deuce Coupe" (Capitol)
34. Little Peggy March "I Will Follow Him" (RCA)
35. The Essex "Easier Said Than Done" (Roulette)
36. The Surfaris "Surfer Joe" (Dot)
37. Ray Charles "Don't Set Me Free" (ABC)
38. Dion "Ruby Baby" (Columbia)
39. Smokey Robinson & the Miracles "I Gotta Dance to Keep from Crying" (Tamla)
40. James Brown "Prisoner of Love" (King)
41. Roy Orbison "In Dreams" (Monument)
42. The Chiffons "He's So Fine" (Laurie)
43. Martha & the Vandellas "Quicksand" (Gordy)
44. The Beach Boys "Surfin' U.S.A." (Capitol)
45. Little Stevie Wonder "Fingertips Part 2" (Tamla)
46. Ray Charles "Take These Chains from My Heart" (ABC)
47. The Impressions "It's All Right" (ABC)
48. Lonnie Mack "Memphis" (Fraternity)
49. Little Eva "Swingin' on a Star" (Dimension)
50. The Beach Boys "Catch a Wave" (Capitol LP: Surfer Girl)
51. Jan & Dean "Surf City" (Liberty)
52. The Angels "My Boyfriend's Back" (Smash)
53. Lesley Gore "It's My Party" (Mercury)
54. The Beach Boys "Farmer's Daughter" (Capitol LP: Surfin' U.S.A.)
55. Peggy Lee "I'm a Woman" (Capitol)
56. Ray Charles "Busted" (ABC)
57. Muddy Waters "Five Long Years" (Chess)
58. Smokey Robinson & the Miracles "A Love She Can Count On" (Tamla)
59. Mary Wells "Your Old Standby" (Motown)
60. Lesley Gore "She's a Fool" (Mercury)
+
Lloyd Price "Misty"
The Drifters "Up on the Roof"
Wilson Pickett "It's Too Late"
The Mar-Keys "Bo Time"
James Brown "Oh Baby Don't You Weep"
Jan & Dean "Drag City"
Little Eva "Let's Turkey Trot"

The Best Records of 2013

***

TOP TEN ALBUMS

After a year in which I proclaimed the album nearly dead to me, when I had trouble filling a list of top ten albums with music that I felt really and truly deserved it, of course the world comes back and shuts me up with, frankly, the best year for new LPs since I've been keeping up with this stuff. I count 23 full-lengths that I honestly love out of the year's releases, out of 111 (!) I officially reviewed, an estimated 150 I listened to at full length, and an estimated 220 I sampled. But as recently as 2010, I had the same number, and in the retroactive lists I've made, several other post-millennial years in the database bring up twenty or more A-range (in our parlance, "highly recommended") titles. The difference is in the average quality of the albums so ordained. I don't generally publicize the "letter grades" I assign in my head because I prefer them to stay as informal as possible, but any record I think of as an "A" I assume will definitely make my final list of ten at year's end. This year there were sixteen such albums, compared to six last year, exactly ten in 2011, eleven in 2010, and just three in 2009.

Absent the freelancing-related convenience of publicists emailing me and since I don't have much time to doggedly read music news anymore, I expanded the number of critics and music writers I follow and also tried to find time to listen to the radio and various internet playlists more. The former worked out nicely, the latter not so much, but the list of albums to work with certainly was larger this year. Maybe it's necessary to explain a bit how my process here works. After a certain threshold of acclaim, I review an album no matter what unless I absolutely cannot stand the artist (and I'm trying to fall back on that excuse less these days) or unless it belongs to the metal genre, which -- call me prejudiced if you want -- I absolutely cannot hear the good in, even if it's good. Beyond that, albums that sound interesting at a glance get "sampled." Sampling means I listen to a couple of cuts on an album (much easier these days thanks to Spotify) to see if its mood strikes me or if something stands out for me at a given moment. If several attempts yield nothing, I let the album slip. If there might be something there, it's added to a list to be investigated later. If I can't bear to turn the thing off, I don't turn it off and it probably will find its way into the blog sooner rather than later. Maybe my greater sampling size made a difference, but I strongly believe this was simply an exceptional, really overwhelming year.

The trends that seem to be defining me if not anything larger than me are a further sidelining of guitar bands in favor of R&B and dance music; I've always found myself shoved in that direction except for a period in the last few years when indie rock suddenly had some dominance in my world, but the major conclusion I've reached about the renaissance we're seeing in soul music -- which is still America's most innovative and artistically fulfilling popular genre, as it pretty much always has been -- is that the scant handful of albums that get widespread publicity, all of which I took on this year except Beyoncé's (which will have to wait till January), seem to only scratch the surface. I'm currently seeking out alternative means to make sure I'm catching as much of this music as I should be. And please be sure to look below the top ten and honorable mentions to the "others I liked" list, which includes some quite fascinating records you shouldn't ignore simply because they weren't wholly to my taste.

This was also a year, as pretty much everyone will tell you, of veteran acts reasserting their greatness. Paul McCartney's New didn't endear itself to me despite a promising start, but Yoko Ono's Take Me to the Land of Hell was another matter. The world is correct about David Bowie's The Next Day and Pet Shop Boys' truly magical Electric. Over half of my big ten isn't much of a surprise to me, really. All but four of its artists were already beloved in this household, and yet somehow I still think of this as an exciting and energized year, maybe because the artists in question are still finding ways to take unexpected left turns and put on full display their restlessness and spirit, some as they enter their second decade of storied careers, some hopefully only beginning their journey, and then an eighty year-old woman and a group that's been altering my life since I was in junior high school. That last remark could also apply to Yo La Tengo, whose absence from the top ten only indicates just how crowded the field was this year. Fade is a stronger album than Popular Songs, which did make my list back in '09, and it's really only by circumstance that it's the first YLT record absent from my real-time or retroactive list since, gulp, their very first one. That says a lot.

Looking over the two records of 2013 that I consider great -- like, pantheon-level great -- plus the fourteen that are goddamned close and the seven that just miss, there's no real trend or mood that emerges as dominant to me. There's joy but also dread here, there's the tremendousness of invention but also the romance and beauty of a closed-off, insular world. There's wet-streets parking lot music (thanks to Amber for that phrase in regard to the National), hellacious dance floor music, even a little rock music. There's all the revolving-door strangeness of a pop music world that no longer has a single narrative -- and thank heavens it never will again. In a year that saw perhaps more consensus than the rock & roll list-making universe has ever seen, with two albums dominating nearly everyone's portrait of 2013 as though their spirit and brilliance were next to undeniable (which isn't remotely true, but how nice and fun to imagine it!), how interesting that the rest of your collection of favorites probably bears next to no resemblance to your neighbor's. Put it this way: death to the consensus, except when, you know, it's just right.


10. The Julie Ruin: Run Fast (Dischord)
Two things: illness can't sideline you forever, and the indomitable spirit of punk lives long after you move well past the age when it's officially supposed to make sense. Kathleen Hanna's new group is a tremendous showcase, and they pretty much do it all: catchy girl group pop, catchier screaming and thrashing, catchiest anthems and riotous experiments. Hanna yelps and snarls like twenty years haven't happened, and the entire album bursts with such uncompromising enthusiasm you either can't tell it's the work of someone who's been at it for so long or you know that anybody who hadn't been could not pull it off so expertly. I try not to throw around "life-affirming," but...
Best cuts: "Just My Kind"; "Run Fast"; "Ha Ha Ha"
[Full review]


9. Rhye: Woman (Republic)
Blue-eyed big-time sensuality makes no bones about how derivative it is, how much it owes to music that preceded it by decades, but it's so well-crafted and sensitive that all that ends up mattering is the depth and utility of its almost hauntingly minimal popcraft. A mirrorball might cast its lights over its songs of domesticated bliss and tranquility, but the melodies and intimacy have a kind of warmth and blood running through them that seems improbably well-captured in this era of digitized everything. The point of Woman is at least in part that the changing world leaves plenty of room for good sex, good marriage, good mutual discovery even at its most rapid-fire and seemingly impersonal. You just have to carve out the right space, preferably with this playing. Its romance is spread out everywhere, but encapsulated on "The Fall" when the strings swell up and you practically can't help but blush.
Best cuts: "3 Days"; "Hunger"; "Open"
[Full review]


8. Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba: Jama Ko (Out Here)
This virtuosic album of family-affair singing and chanting and ruggedly brilliant musicianship is so full of joy and enthusiasm that, unless you speak Bambara (and a bit of French), it's easy to forget that it was recorded in a moment of extreme anger by a band whose world was coming apart -- Mali was being engaged in a military coup as the songs were laid down, and each memorable groove sears with purpose and conviction in the face of madness and zealotry. We don't cover African music nearly as much as we should here (something that we're working to change in 2014), but whether you're generally aware of nonwestern musical forms or not, this album's passion and fury will almost certainly move you.
Best cuts: "Madou"; "Mali Koori"; "Sinaly"
[Full review]


7. The National: Trouble Will Find Me (4AD)
When I think of hearing this outside a desolate bus station in Newark at two in the morning, one earbud in my ear and the other in Amber's, I can't help wishing I had been fully attuned to its beauty at the time. This is obviously less immediate than High Violet, but in the end no less vital and shattering, and its peaks are as soulful and convincingly longing fits of mood and desire as we get in straight-on rock music these days. The bigness of these minor chords is so much more lived-in than what we get from any of the other pseudo-arena bands among the younger set. I have no idea if this album is completely as well-fitted to other lives as it is to mine, but on so many nights this year, it was as perfect as though it had been specifically commissioned to match up with the lighting in my living room and the emotional speed of the moment -- a profound utility for guitar music to fill, I think.
Best cuts: "This Is the Last Time"; "I Need My Girl"; "Slipped"
[Full review]


6. Yoko Ono: Take Me to the Land of Hell (Chimera)
She'd already proven herself so many times over that the genius of this album seems expanded somehow by how sort of unnecessary it is. In no sense did 80 year-old Ono have to write such blistering, grooving dance and funk songs (and exhaustingly wounding ballads) and lay them down with such undaunted, effortless enthusiasm -- her singing has never been better, more impassioned, or more charming -- with a battery of guests and collaborators probably no one but herself and son Sean Lennon could bring together under a single umbrella. The frenetic looseness and immediacy of all this could make you tear up, though probably not until you're finished dancing. She could not be a more complete and inspiring artist. But she'll probably try anyway.
Best cuts: "7th Floor"; "Bad Dancer"; "Cheshire Cat Cry"
[Full review]


5. Janelle Monáe: The Electric Lady (Bad Boy)
You probably didn't instantly respond to this like you did to the rollercoaster of creativity and wicked madness that was The ArchAndroid, but nor did that album have a song quite as succinctly perfect as "Dance Apocalyptic," an undercurrent of whimsical throwback bliss like this record's fixation with Bert Kaempfert and Henry Mancini, or a moment of performance-art glory like Monáe's film-noir nightclub star turn on the absolutely throttling "Look into My Eyes." And I'm actually pretty sure that I very, very occasionally stopped grinning like a giant dork during some of my listens to The ArchAndroid. This one? Not yet, man. Just two full albums in, I'm about as close to trusting her with my life as I've been with any artist.
Best cuts: "Dance Apocalyptic"; "It's Code"; "What an Experience"
[Full review]


4. Pet Shop Boys: Electric (x2)
If I ever had occasion to meet Neil Tennant or Chris Lowe, I'd probably manage to blubber out a hello and a thank you before I had to excuse myself. What is it about these two that inspires such improbable worship from otherwise rational people? For over half my life I've guardedly collected remixes of even the songs I don't like much, and shed as many tears to the songs with hard house beats as those without; no other group quite articulates a specific kind of angst with such world-embracing understanding, wit and collected charm. And so when they show that after nearly thirty years together they can unleash a series of ferocious Relentless-style club songs as if they were some new EDM act formed yesterday, yeah, even if there weren't any songs designed to make you lose your cool a bit, I probably would -- because why? how? What can make one of the bands that's meant the most to you your whole life mean even more? But then "Vocal" comes on and you remember, yes, you're supposed to feel this way: blissful, bombed out, like the world's all disappeared, and when you've come to your senses, just bloody grateful.
Best cuts: "Thursday"; "Love Is a Bourgeois Construct"; "Inside a Dream"
[Full review]


3. Ciara (Epic)
An economical pop album for the modern era, one of the best in any genre, and one of those instances when someone, somehow or another, follows their instincts and does every single thing right: every cut is extremely fun, as long or short as it should be, and addictive. The album as a whole coheres perfectly, balanced well between busted-out dance music and emotionally extreme balladry, and it all builds to a climax of disco perfection that seems to have exhausted itself with "DUI" and "Livin' It Up," then just keeps going until the strobe lights are burned into your eyes. Ciara's vocal performances and hooks are grand, but almost seem beside the point in a theatrical moment so utterly well-realized -- she leaves you longing for more, and cuts the thing at its unquestionable peak. If this isn't remembered as a classic, I'll be very disappointed.
Best cuts: "Overdose"; "Livin' It Up"; "Super Turnt Up"
[Full review]


2. Vampire Weekend: Modern Vampires of the City (XL)
I can't really believe this isn't #1. Can we have a tie? New albums by rock bands, as a rule, simply don't get me under their spell right away and keep me there to this extent for months on end, enough so that other music seems to cease to exist (or would have if #1 down there hadn't come out around the same time). If you told me in 2008 that I would love this band as much as I do now, I'd likely have just rolled my eyes. But this is the sort of forceful moment when you have to grudgingly admit that the culture has thrown you a curve-ball. Not only is it an instantly appealing and actually massive creation, MVOTC is like New York itself: it's sprawling and full of side-stories running parallel to the main one, and there's "stuff" everywhere but somehow it allows you to carve out your own existence, to find the private in the public, the romance in the occupied space. It is the sound of careening down busy streets like you won't live another day. It is the giver of, among so many other gifts, the moment of 2013: when those chants start rumbling up from the earthen mass of "Ya Hey," or maybe the last chorus of "Worship You," or maybe the entirety of "Everlasting Arms." And it is jointly the giver of the mantra of 2013: I don't want to live like this, but I don't want to... DIIIIIIII--
Best cuts: Do I have to? Jesus Christ. Right now, let's say "Diane Young"; "Unbelievers"; "Worship You" but almost anything on the album could justify a reference here.
[Full review]


1. Kanye West: Yeezus (Def Jam)
I don't care. I fucking love it. I don't care. It's Kanye West/Plastic Ono Band. Ten songs, all revealing something about a persona and a culture, all deliberately confounding, all smart and most smarter than the majority of us probably even realize yet. Six albums now, all of them excellent, three of them actually masterful, all but one of them the most influential of its period of release. He is the best we've got. He is probably the best we could have. Yeezus is singular, weird, minimal, loud, unearthly, chaotic, infuriating, terrible, breathtaking, brilliant, frustrating, a huge fucking mess. It's the culmination of a career of making messes and creating chaos on a world stage that both crushes and benefits its creator. It couldn't be what it is if West were a normal artist, a normal person, a normal celebrity. It is what it is because he is great -- the most uncompromising and blisteringly gifted artist currently working in the U.S. You think he's an asshole? Fine, please go tell him. Please tell him loudly and as condescendingly and hatefully as you can. Because chances are, he will make something of it, and it will almost certainly matter more and for longer than what you or I or anyone else thinks about it.
Best cuts: In this case, I haven't swayed from "Bound 2" all year long, but after that I'm muddier. "Hold My Liquor"? "Black Skinhead"? Why separate them?
[Full review]

HONORABLE MENTIONS
(Others I loved in 2013)


Danny Brown: Old (Fool's Gold)
Brown himself hasn't changed much, though. He was always an intelligent and thoughtful artist, but he's grown intrigued with these Jekyll-and-Hyde chasms in his performance style and writing. So have we as his audience. His nasal, mocking cadence wasn't easy to take in greater than limited quantities, though even on his earlier records it was hard to name anyone who'd done so much with such an at-first-blush terrible voice. Now, as he grows more deliberately reflective, he crafts a record as haunted by the past -- and as emotionally specific a storytelling achievement -- as Kendrick Lamar's good kid, M.A.A.D city. But Brown does it his way -- pervasive as the themes are, Old is first and foremost an intensely elated hour of hip hop excitement.
Best cuts: "Lonely"; "25 Bucks"; "Torture"
[Full review]


Fantasia: Side Effects of You (RCA)
The superficial key to the record's appeal is that Fantasia's eclectic performance style and the production by Harmony Samuels (who handles all but one cut) dabble heartily in the trends, radio-friendly and otherwise, of the present period but also feels, as does Fantasia, a kinship with the now-classic '90s hits of Mary J. Blige, Babyface, Toni Braxton, TLC and even En Vogue (whose best song, "Don't Let Go (Love)," is specifically referenced on "End of Me"). The result has an almost casually broad appeal, best indicated in the album's very first moments: through a cloud of modernist white noise emerges a perfect integration of atmospheric, vaguely paranoid R&B with Samuels' actual banger and Fantasia's florid invocation of her influences. Extrapolating a bit, even the mainstream pop-embracing single "Without Me" has a stretched and skewed hook, eschewing its natural sweetness for the stark sound of an unforgiving club floor.
Best cuts: "Ain't All Bad"; "Lose to Win"; "Get It Right"
[Full review]


Savages: Silence Yourself (Matador)
The threat and dread come loudest and clearest: while the songs are generally bashed out with abandon and then discarded, the band is quick to shrug off any questions about versatility with variations like "Strife," slowing down to a deliberate pregnant plod and doing things with you that you will never tell your mum; "Waiting for a Sign" takes this further to a sad, menacing guitar mourn -- the guitar rather than voice taking the emotional lead, brilliant as the vocal is -- and proceeds to thrust with a quiet-loud pacing that somehow manages never to allow its tension to break. But is there joy in all this? Absolutely; turn it up louder. You could argue that even the creation of music this defined by throwback yet wholly inventive and crafty is in itself an act of stubborn joy, and one of the most assured and powerful rock-band moments of recent vintage.
Best cuts: "Marshal Dear": "City's Full"; "Husbands"
[Full review]


David Bowie: The Next Day (Columbia)
What's so remarkable about it? Well, it's the voice, first of all. Not exactly youthful but by no means a Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen growl, it retains much of the old yelpy and freaky registers alike. Secondly and perhaps most crucially, the writing: it's top-caliber whether you consider this as a new record by some new guy (no new guy would be this bold, adventurous, or fearlessly individualistic out of the gate) or a proper addition to the Bowie library, requiring no veteran's-rights apology in either case. "The Stars (Are Out Tonight)" is anthemic night-drive perfection down to every oooooh, "You Feel So Lonely You Could Die" the playful doo wop we never knew to expect, "How Does the Grass Grow?" a tremendous creation out of messy melody and restless procession of sonic and musical ideas. Thirdly, the performances, arrangement, production. It's unmistakably Bowie, unmistakably Tony Visconti, but also new: complex and detailed, synthy and organic, its hopelessness and chaos so well organized. "Art rock" (remember when that was the phrase?) is back in good hands out of nowhere.
Best cuts: "How Does the Grass Grow"; "The Stars"; "Dirty Boys"
[Full review]


Daft Punk: Random Access Memories (Columbia)
It's not that I didn't like Homework or Discovery -- both have their good points -- but they never meant anything to me, not like this does. Not like the wistful groove of "Get Lucky" and its almost desperate good-time funk, not like the slow meltdown of "Game of Love" and "Instant Crush." It seems as if Daft Punk are yearning for something here, to call back to a feeling, and their recording in the wake of that noble-enough nostalgia produces something all the more remarkable for the impossibility of reaching the orgasmic heights it wants. The incapability of recapturing memories renders this poignant, flawed, beautiful.
Best cuts: "Doin' It Right"; "Get Lucky"; "The Game of Love"
[Full review]


Yo La Tengo: Fade (Matador)
Gradually, the rest of the words fall into place. Read "Ohm" as philosophy of life, acceptance of death, acknowledgement of the series of moments that's really all we get: "But nothing ever stays the same / Nothing's explained / The higher we go, the longer we fly / 'Cause this is it for all we know / So say goodnight to me / And lose no more time / Resisting the flow." And then "The Point of It," either the sardonic response to being a creatively active band with potential years still ahead of it that's had a paper gravestone of a biography now penned about it, or more importantly, the indicator of this couple and this band's shaky but assured contentment as they come to terms with the fact of aging: "Say that we’re afraid / Say the night is close / Honey, that’s okay / If we’re getting old / If we’re not so strong / If our story’s told / That’s the point of being loved." And as the serious emotional range and depth of all this hits you, all you can think is: they can't be here forever. I can only speak for myself here -- I dunno what I will do without them. But that's not, as the song goes, the point either. The point is we're all getting old, closer to death, closer to our own slow fade, and that's why we wake up in the morning.
Best cuts: "Ohm"; "Cornelia & Jane"; "I'll Be Around"
[Full review]


Kelela: Cut 4 Me (Fade to Mind) [mixtape]
Kelela's excellence as a singer is beyond question whether you care much for the drift of these songs or not. No matter how much of a stunt the track is, she is reliably sprawled out and adventurous in a most sumptuous sense, unflinching before all weirdness. Kicking drum machine imbued with oddly placed sax and ghostly hip hop chanting on "Go All Night"? Bird sounds and off-putting effects on the stirringly intimate and beautiful "A Lie"? No more a challenge than the skewed but radio-ready anthem of the title track and its crazy-ish synths under a voice and groove that go up and down and back again then wander off. So often, Kelela herself provides the hook, the melding together of everything. She can be filtered and manipulated to within an inch of her sonic life on the near-perfect "Something Else" or overdubbed into complex oblivion on "Cherry Coffee" but still she is the noise we wander into and don't wish to leave.
Best cuts: "A Lie"; "Floor Show"; "Something Else"
[Full review]


Tegan and Sara: Heartthrob (Warner Bros.)
Not that these themes are or should be strictly the parlance of moms, young marrieds, and serial monogamists in the working world -- part of the thematic urgency of Heartthrob comes from the same place as a given Phil Spector or Shangri-Las record: the unerring relevance of romantic catharsis, here filtered through lyrics that more often than not feel eerily personal. It's here that I can't help contrasting a song like the blissful opening "Closer," all late-night FM neon, to a group like Goldfrapp who'd do a great job with it but who'd never resist an overriding sarcasm or abstraction. "Closer" doesn't just swipe and snarl with all that talk about treating you like you're oh-so-typical or wondering how to get you underneath me, it grits its teeth and feels it and rattles you like a lightning bolt. How come you don't want me, indeed -- she sees you talking with a different girl, one who's got "nothing to show you," and the most trite of broken hearts is all sublime and pure again, as those regrets are written in the glittery purple of communal pop-art, teenage symphonies about don't-they-know-it's-the-end-of-the-world because check it out -- and here's the absolute kicker -- we're in our thirties now and it still feels like the bloody end of the world.
Best cuts: "Shock to Your System"; "I Was a Fool"; "I Couldn't Be Your Friend"
[Full review]


Oneohtrix Point Never: R Plus Seven (Warp)
One reason Lopatin maintains attention for the full breadth of these forty-three minutes: the songs, already full of eternally shapeshifting life, don't go on for long -- not for Oneohtrix is the idea of a mere trance, a wander off into nowhere. At least not anymore. "He She" tampers with MIDI voices teasingly and fascinatingly for all of a minute and a half. All of R Plus Seven is structured with a sense of brevity, and with the fortifying and careful distribution (occasionally denial?) of pleasure. Beatless and busy, it's cerebral music for sure, but it's also a complete and disciplined thought.
Best cuts: it ain't that kind of album
[Full review]


Cut Copy: Free Your Mind (Modular)
Free Your Mind sheds, except for its title, the psych-rock zone-out effect of earlier Cut Copy albums, even if they claim this one was inspired by the Summer of Love. There's no question it's music about hedonism, but it looks in the right direction for hallmarks from "It's Alright" to "Rhythm Is a Dancer." Hard to say if any song strikes out full-bore like the emotionally indomitable "Take Me Out," or that any moment is so transcendent as the bridge of "Corner of the Sky," but what this album successfully does is spread out its bliss so that it's a consistent, melodic high. And never before has Dan Whitford sung a melody as beautiful as that of "Dark Corners & Mountain Tops" or produced a throwback as convincing as "Footsteps." Generally, Cut Copy present such a full-bodied joy here that it's hard to carp with anything.
Best cuts: "Dark Corners & Mountain Tops"; "Footsteps"; "Let Me Show You Love"
[Full review]


Run the Jewels (Fool's Gold)
In contrast to so much of what's labeled "alternative" rap -- a classification secured by the presence of Brooklyn noisemaker El-P, though even Mike can hardly be called a mainstream player at the moment -- RTJ comes on truly hard: badass, brutal and quick. The pair spits out imaginative, playful, often angry and aggressive rhymes over El's booming, crunching, minimal but impossibly heavy backbeats -- building brilliantly on his work with Mike last year. It runs through its ideas and changes so rapidly -- every single time, I look up and I'm surprised it's halfway over -- it's hard to pick out individual tracks or moments.
(hence we won't.)
[Full review]


The Strokes: Comedown Machine (RCA)
And what's the big secret the Strokes have abruptly stumbled upon? Well, that they're a BAND! Creatively restless and adventurous, enough so to cook up a kooky song like "Call It Faith, Call It Karma" that's playful but not up its own ass, sounding like it could've played in the strip-boat sequence in Beasts of the Southern Wild. All the more fascinatingly, they're a really excellent band that can do things their peers often cannot. On "Chances," they commit cardinal sins: initially it sounds like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, not a big stretch for obvious reasons, with a shade of spaced-out grimy mid-'90s nightclub, then there's some impeccably crafted but highly odd Berlin / Mr. Mister thing that happens and it's earned and playful and fun, not intolerable like so many sinister soft-rock revivalist moments in the recent history of "indie." The thesis? Through hard work and trial and error, they've developed and have learned how to make their various obsessions and musical hangups work for them, and how to turn them all into something distinctive but broadly appealing. The happiest possible ending, only I now hope it's not an ending -- when mere weeks ago I swore this would be the last time I ever checked out a new Strokes album. Nope!
Best cuts: "Slow Animals"; "One Way Trigger"; "Welcome to Japan"
[Full review]


Future Bible Heroes: Partygoing (Merge)
The thirteen songs here collectively serve to make a wholly different impression than any of Merritt's last several releases, and unlike all of them it displays no serious conceptual gimmick, which may be one key to its excellence. Putting aside Ewen's engaging stylistics for just a moment, in terms of vocal performance and songwriting, Merritt properly reins in his impulses for both melodrama and novelty. Partygoing is just new songs in the same old idiom; it treads no new ground but it's him. That weird investment in Hollywood fused with mournful "As Tears Go By" lament on "When Evening Falls in Tinseltwon" -- it couldn't be more idiosyncratic, or more appealing to those for whom these particular idiosyncrasies have been a hallmark for over twenty years now. I'm putting this in Merritt and, hell, the Magnetic Fields' column as a resounding success because it's the first time since I've been a fan that I can point to a new release under any name from the Merritt camp and say "this is why I love this man's work."
Best cuts: "All I Care About Is You"; "Sadder Than the Moon"; "How Very Strange"
[Full review]

***

OTHERS I LIKED IN 2013
Haim: Days Are Gone (Columbia)
Camera Obscura: Desire Lines (4AD)
Dawn Richard: Goldenheart (Our Dawn)
M.I.A.: Matangi (Interscope)
Charles Bradley: Victim of Love (Daptone)
Waxahatchee: Cerulean Salt (Don Giovanni)
Josephine Foster: I'm a Dreamer (Fire)
Suede: Bloodsports (Warner Bros.)
MGMT (Columbia)
Moonface: Julia with Blue Jeans On (Jagjaguwar)
Chvrches: The Bones of What You Believe (Glassnote)
Neko Case: The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You (Anti-)
Over the Rhine: Meet Me at the Edge of the World (Great Speckled Dog)
AlunaGeorge: Body Music (Island)
Blood Orange: Cupid Deluxe (Domino)
Jamie Lidell (Warp)
Collette: When the Music's Loud (Candy Talk)
Arcade Fire: Reflektor (Merge)
Baths: Obsidian (Anticon)
Omar Souleyman: Wenu Wenu (Ribbon Music)
Maya Jane Coles: Comfort (I / AM / ME)
Saturday Looks Good to Me: One Kiss Ends It All (Polyvinyl)
Black Milk: No Poison No Paradise (Fat Beats)
Disclosure: Settle (Island)
Sally Shapiro: Somewhere Else (Paper Bag)
Of Montreal: Lousy with Sylvianbriar (Polyvinyl)
Okkervil River: The Silver Gymnasium (ATO)
Weekend: Jinx (Slumberland)
The Men: New Moon (Sacred Bones)
My Bloody Valentine: MBV (Pickpocket)
Paul McCartney: New (Hear Music)
Goldfrapp: Tales of Us (Mute)
KT Tunstall: Invisible Empire / Crescent Moon (Blue Note)
Yo Gotti: I Am (Epic)
Mutual Benefit: Love's Crushing Diamond (Other Music)
A$AP Rocky: LongLiveA$AP (RCA)
Minor Alps: Get There (Barsuk)
Eels: Wonderful, Glorious (Vagrant)
The Field: Cupid's Head (Kompakt)

***

EP'S I LIKED IN 2013
Burial: Rival Dealer (Hyperdub)
MØ: Bikini Daze (Genepool)

***

BEST SONGS OF 2013
I didn't bother with Youtube links this year; I figure if you want to hear something here, you can easily search it and there won't be any risk of a bunch of pesky soon-to-be-invalid links. As always, limiting this list to one song per album but not per artist (though I don't think that made any difference this time). Not as distinct from the albums list this year, both because I heard more albums and because I didn't have as much time as I'd have liked to poke around Soundcloud and such. Perhaps next year! Still, I'm confident this is a hell of a great list.

1. Ciara "Overdose" [Ciara]
2. Collette "When the Music's Loud" [When the Music's Loud]
3. Yoko Ono "7th Floor" [Take Me to the Land of Hell]
4. Miley Cyrus "We Can't Stop" [Bangerz]
5. Daft Punk "Doin' It Right" [Random Access Memories]
6. Justin Timberlake "Suit & Tie" [The 20/20 Experience]
7. Fantasia "Ain't All Bad" [Side Effects of You]
8. Danny Brown "Lonely" [Old]
9. Disclosure "Help Me Lose My Mind" [Settle]
10. Kanye West "Bound 2" [Yeezus]
11. Vampire Weekend "Diane Young" [Modern Vampires of the City]
12. Petite Noir "Kinshasa Waltz" [internet-only]
13. Pet Shop Boys "Thursday" [Electric]
14. Jamie Lidell "I'm Selfish" [Jamie Lidell]
15. The Julie Ruin "Just My Kind" [Run Fast]
16. Karl X Johan "Never Leave Me" [non-LP single]
17. Kelela "A Lie" [Cut 4 Me]
18. Austra "Painful Like" [Olympia]
19. Rhye "3 Days" [Woman]
20. Lil Wayne "Rich as Fuck" [I Am Not a Human Being II]
21. AlunaGeorge "You Know You Like It" [Body Music]
22. The National "This Is the Last Time" [Trouble Will Find Me]
23. Weekend "Mirror" [Jinx]
24. Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba "Madou" [Jama Ko]
25. Jay-Z ft. Beyonce "Part II" [Magna Carta Holy Grail]
26. Future Bible Heroes "All I Care About Is You" [Partygoing]
27. David Bowie "How Does the Grass Grow" [The Next Day]
28. Lockah and Taste Tester "U Don't Know Me" [Higher Learning]
29. Janelle Monae "Dance Apocalyptic" [The Electric Lady]
30. High Highs "In a Dream" [Open Season]
31. Cut Copy "Dark Corners & Mountain Tops" [Free Your Mind]
32. The Strokes "Slow Animals" [Comedown Machine]
33. Iamsu! "Rep That Gang" [Kilt 2]
34. Savages "Marshal Dear" [Silence Yourself]
35. Tegan and Sara "Shock to Your System" [Heartthrob]
36. Teena Marie "Love Letter" [Beautiful]
37. Yo Gotti "Cold Blooded" [I Am]
38. Dawn Richard "Tug of War" [Goldenheart]
39. Rihanna "Loveeeeeee Song" [Unapologetic]
40. Yo La Tengo "Ohm" [Fade]
41. M.I.A. "Come Walk with Me" [Matangi]
42. Suede "Barriers" [Bloodsports]
43. Haim "If I Could Change Your Mind" [Days Are Gone]
44. Waxahatchee "Peace and Quiet" [Cerulean Salt]
45. Bruno Mars "Treasure" [Unorthodox Jukebox]
46. Moonface "November 2011" [Julia with Blue Jeans On]
47. Of Montreal "Sirens of Your Toxic Spirit" [Lousy with Sylvianbriar]
48. Saturday Looks Good to Me "Sunglasses" [One Kiss Ends It All]
49. Black Milk "Money Bags" [No Poison No Paradise]
50. James T. Cotton "People Mover" [People Mover EP]
51. Young Scooter "Made It Through the Struggle" [Street Lottery]
52. Minor Alps "Buried Plans" [Get There]
53. Calvin Harris "Sweet Nothing" [18 Months]
54. Obey City "Fallin'" [Champagne Sounds EP]
55. Maya Jane Coles "Easier to Hide" [Comfort]
56. Neko Case "Ragtime" [The Worse Things Get...]
57. The Men "Half Angel Half Light" [New Moon]
58. MØ "Never Wanna Know" [Bikini Daze EP]
59. Arcade Fire "Reflektor" [Reflektor]
60. Robin Thicke "Blurred Lines" [Blurred Lines]
61. Charli XCX "Lock You Up" [True Romance]
62. MGMT "A Good Sadness" [MGMT]
63. Paul McCartney "Alligator" [New]
64. Mikal Cronin "Weight" [MCII]
65. A$AP Rocky "Hell" [LongLiveA$AP]
66. Camera Obscura "Troublemaker" [Desire Lines]
67. Over the Rhine "Wait" [Meet Me at the Edge of the World]
68. Marnie Stern "Proof of Life" [The Chronicles of Marnia]
69. Justin Bieber "Beauty and a Beat" [Believe]
70. Foxygen "San Francisco" [We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic]
+
Baths "Inter" [Obsidian]
The Knife "A Tooth for an Eye" [Shaking the Habitual]
Sally Shapiro "I Dream with an Angel Tonight" [Somewhere Else]
My Bloody Valentine "New You" [MBV]
Okkervil River "It Was My Season" [The Silver Gymnasium]

***

See you in a little under a week, folks. Thanks as always for checking in.

Cat Power: The Greatest (2006)

(Matador)

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Surprised that when I fell in love with this album, in the year after its release, I hadn't taken a sip of alcohol yet -- it seems ideal for a lonely evening (had lots of those then) with a glass of wine or something. Hearing it now end to end several times as a soundtrack to the finale of a chaotic and suddenly quiet year, what strikes me is that it remains just a total, tightly compressed stunner of an album, and certainly Chan Marshall's finest hour as a composer. These songs are focused and subtle, but also brilliantly varied, helped along by a crack team of Memphis session musicians who bring alive the soul and country that sit as undercurrent in her songs -- as on none of her other records, they are permitted to truly breathe and come into their own.

The slight melancholy gracing all twelve cuts also makes it a perfect album for a night like tonight, seemingly the darkest night of them all, when a stillness overtakes everything except the tiny space lit by its gentle loveliness. Up until the sudden explosion of rock-ish roll on "Love && Communication," there's no real break into the normal indie rock stratosphere at all. Instead, we open with sweet lilting melodrama on the title cut; there may be no covers here, but "The Greatest" couldn't exist without "Moon River," and Marshall immediately introduces the sigh-heavy mood that will cover everything for the next forty-one minutes: "Once I wanted to be the greatest."

Like all of Cat Power's best work, The Greatest aches with loss, but its gracefulness belongs to the league of modern-day emotional navel gazers but in a class with Dylan circa Nashville Skyline, with Otis Redding at his most despairing, with Ray Davies ("Willesden Green" is all but directly reprised on "After It All"), maybe most of all with Hank Williams and Patsy Cline, the way their sadness was always met with some sort of grudging willingness to acknowledge its depths of nothingness with good humor and move forward. More than once, the simultaneous air of yearning (see "Where Is My Love") is undercut by a real spirit of driving beauty and sweetness. "Lived in Bars" kind of embodies all of the drama: opening as desolate plod, it picks up, wizened and reflective, like aging rapidly in song.

As consistent and intoxicating as its mood may be, The Greatest stands as a stellar achievement mostly because it's simply a superlative collection of songs that feels far shorter than it is and never oversteps itself. Its longest cut, the jazz-infected "Willie," seems as justified sinking into its six-minute groove as its shortest, the quintessential Cat Power country song "Islands," feels fully realized at 1:44. The piano-driven, simple and delicate "Living Proof" fits its melody as uncannily as the florid arrangement of Memphis horns and chilled-down Stax befits the sweet lullaby "Could We," with its wondrously simple "could we / take a walk" hook drifting its romance on up into an unrealized but tantalizingly implied full blossom.

Cat Power's next proper album of original songs, Sun, would bring forth what might be her best song ever, "Manhattan" -- but revisiting The Greatest, I'm reminded that it may have some serious composition in the form of the truly stunning "The Moon," which more than any of her other tracks makes a long dark night a romantic and tangible thing -- and manages so impressively to sound both minimal and truly expansive. When Marshall sings that the moon is "not only beautiful, it is so far away," she could be referring to the song itself, a light-touch enigma that seems almost too distant and wispy to capture but so unmistakable, present, almost eerily gorgeous. And better yet, it achieves this through what at a glance seem classic-rockist techniques of layered George Harrison-circa-Abbey Road guitar, intense vocals overdubbed atop one another, and just the directness and intensity, as ever, of Marshall's voice. She may or may not have sounded better at some other point, but I doubt she's ever been so focused, across the breadth of this song and its complete album -- a moment captured so lovingly you want to hold on and cling to every treasured split-second of it.

[SEE ALSO:]
Sun (2012)

Burial: Rival Dealer EP (2013)

(Hyperdub)

RECOMMENDED

The notion behind Rival Dealer is all but explicitly stated in the last of its three tracks, "Come Down to Us," which samples a heartrending speech given last year by filmmaker Lana Wachowski, wherein she opened up about her life, self-discovery and acceptance as a trans woman and the slow acknowledgement that there was nothing wrong with being who she was. Abuse of "those who follow their instincts and are told they sin," as another dance artist put it, would be clearly on Burial's mind even if he hadn't talked about it on television. Even with half an ear perked up, you detect that this is the lushest, warmest music he has released thus far. He expects it to be a comfort to many listeners in hard times, but dance music always has filled that purpose, whether it explicitly stated its emotional thrust or not.

Rival Dealer is really and truly new, but it's also just as frustrating as Burial's work has always been, just with a humane sheen and a moving "you are not alone" mantra atop it. As ever, the central dichotomy across these twenty-eight minutes is a systematic tearing in half of William Bevan between his interest in restless minimalism and his interest in the groove. The three songs are barely divided in any manner that makes actual sense -- the track number on your hypothetical CD player that you don't actually use does change eleven minutes in, then all the more arbitrarily after a further five. Poppy middle creation "Hiders" does divide itself somewhat neatly; its kinda-pretty exhilaration allows for something so direct as a "take me away" command on a hedonistic dancefloor -- the joy of escape from an obligation to be what others want.

"Rival Dealer" itself is approximately twelve cuts strung together, though more intuitively than usual. Its initial, immersive heat and beckon eventually collapses into some filthy trap-house with hellish beat, plus immediately confrontational dialogue and autotune. All the while, Burial comes on like a guy preoccupied with even weirder ambient influences than is average for modern electronic music: flip through a police scanner with one of those tropical-thunderstorm sound effect CDs on in the background, throwing on a few different beats at lenient intervals, and you can pretty much approximate this wild and slightly overbearing DJ set. All is forgiven as Rival Dealer proceeds, and reveals the method behind its quiet desperation. It does feel like an act of kindness, but it arrives at this in a most peculiar and hard-won fashion, and it's doubtful that Burial would allow even the most downtrodden any reassurance further than that!

As an aside, I've generally disliked everything Burial's put out till now, so color me the dipshit who only likes the easy and friendly stuff. What else is new.

[SEE ALSO:]
Kindred EP (2012)