The Cold, Antiseptic Heat of Disco
Now Playing: Thee Coronados--"Lupe Velez"
Happy Belated New Year!
2009 was a great year for me, pretty much one of the best on record, and I feel a little weird as a vast number of people I know had quite a shitty one. I suppose nationally it was a year for belt-tightening and soul-searching, and a grim one for those who lost loved ones or jobs. For my part, I grew more into my own job, getting better at my tasks and getting more involved in the gardening and morale committees. I wrote five stories--one less than I managed last year, but I was also working on a number of movie reviews for Darrell Buxton's upcoming The Shrieking Sixties (due in May!), as well as a couple of other projects and book reviews (my review of Gary Paul Nabhan's Where Our Food Comes From, his travelogue-cum-biography of Soviet biologist Nikolai Vavilov, appeared in the Fall 2009 issue of Repast, published by the Culinary Historians of Ann Arbor). I fear I put off my long-cherished goal of sending off my stories to venues, but felt it was more important to get all my ducks in a row first, and should be well on the way by the end of the month. The internet finally reached our house and my new laptop was able to make the best of it, though since I returned from Christmas holidays my pothead housemate seems to have left off paying the bill and I've now been driven to places with free wifi (I'm actually typing this from the library, but not from "Homeless Shelter East"). Most entertainingly of all, I put myself forward as far as the ladies were concerned in a way rather unprecedented for me, certainly since grad school and arguably ever. Going out a few times and receiving unsolicited expressions of interest may not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, at my time of life, it's quite enjoyable. Nothing worked out, but I'd much rather keep trying than give up, even if there's no chance of success (the trick, of course, is to avoid hurting people; I'm not worried about myself so much, and that may be part of the problem). After skipping out on New Year's for the last few occasions, I decided to celebrate this year with some good friends and was very glad I did--it hopefully augurs for a wonderful 2010.
A number of "best of the decade" lists have been going the rounds, and in some areas (British horror media, for example), there've been highs not seen in quarter-centuries. Having started to partially forsake contemporary literature and cinema for various reasons (to some extent financial), I can plausibly offer a list of personal aughties favorites in music (for various reasons, I'm exempting local, southeast Michigan albums, although standouts included anything by the Dirtbombs or Matt Jones, Saturday Looks Good To Me's 2002 All Your Summer Songs, and Starling Electric's 2006 Clouded Staircase).
Favorite Albums of the 2000s
Mirah, Advisory Committee (2000): Having a name like Mirah Yomtov Zeitlyn is practically as cool as being called Narciso Ibanez Serrador or Charles Nelson Reilly, so it's a shame that she just goes by "Mirah." Her greatest effort perfectly melds the intimate, lo-fi cool of her earlier work with excellent production, culminating in the magnificent "Apples on the Trees," barely two minutes long yet incorporating all the great things about the album--a minimalistically urgent beginning, a gorgeous, expansive middle, and then a rousing singalong at the end.
Ike Reilly, Salesmen and Racists (2001): Ike Reilly's barroom masterpiece was sadly his last for a while. I fell in love with it during grad school and, despite some of the more ridiculous lyrics (especiallly in "Commie Drives a Nova" and "Hiphop Thighs #17"), its musical depiction of a world of Chicago deadbeats and drunks still retains its honesty and relevance "The Assassination of Sweet Lou Diablo" and "Crave" are probably personal top picks, as is the opening rave-up "Last Night," with its bitterly ironic condemnation of boozy businessmen's racist jokes. Best for playing in crappy bars half an hour before closing.
Sing-Sing, The Joy of Sing-Sing (2002): Lush was one of my favorite bands of the 1990s, and their dispersion following the suicide of drummer Chris Acland in 1996 was greatly lamented, especially as their final album, the same year's Lovelife, was something of a masterpiece. Vocalist Emma Anderson teamed up with Lisa O'Neill to produce this gorgeous example of Euro-pop, the shoegazing dream-pop so beloved of Lush mixed in with a few rockier moments--the magnificent clubland anthem "Tegan," the retro-80s "Panda Eyes," and, as another reviewer described it, the near-James Bond theme song "Feels Like Summer." Yet another reviewer (I wish I had links to these) described O'Neill as "sounding like she wants to tear your pants off with her teeth." How can you turn that down?
Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002): Wilco's inspiring success story (entertainingly chronicled in the documentary I Am Trying To Break Your Heart) wouldn't have been so compelling had not the finished product been so spellbinding. I wasn't a big fan of their earlier, folky stuff, but the buzz surrounding YHF inspired me to give it a chance. It was the first album in a very long time that completely bowled me away. From the opening seconds of "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart" through the glorious pop of "Heavy Metal Drummer," Jeff Tweedy and company spun one of the decade's seminal albums, a world in itself and probably my own personal indelible musical memory of 2002--instantly calling to mind walks in Akron's Highland Square area during the spring and summer.
Super Furry Animals, Phantom Power (2003): The best freaking band in the world suffered a slight critical comedown in the early aughties, with albums from 2001's Rings Around The World to 2005's Love Kraft often perceived as wilful throwbacks to an almost strenuous 70s-style mellowness (the consensus seems to be that they've recovered their mojo with 2007's Hey Venus! and 2009's Dark Days/Light Years). There's some justice to this reading (I thought it was more a case of the "shock of the new" wearing off for many critics), but I've really warmed to the first two aughties albums over the years (Love Kraft's still probably my least favorite, but that's hardly saying much as I love them all). Phantom Power in particular packs quite a punch, with the radio-friendly "Hello Sunshine," "Golden Retriever," and "The Undefeated" vying with the more contemplative "Sex, War and Robots," "The Piccolo Snare," and "Cityscape Skybaby". It all builds up to a glorious climax with "Slow Life"--hearkening back to seven-minutes-plus epics like "No Sympathy" or "Run, Christian, Run!" on Rings Around the World--starting out with a weird techno beat, then slowly morphing into lovely orchestral swirls backed by Gruff Rhys' unmistakable vocals. Of the SFA's (relative) fallow period, Phantom Power is the one to hit first.
The New Pornographers, Twin Cinema (2005): The University of Michigan's radio station, WCBN, is very much a mixed bag, consisting mainly of freeform music shows and the liberal equivalent of those hideous right-wing talkfests found on freeways across the country (I remember "Grey Matters" being particularly embarrassing). Much of the music I found on WCBN in the early days of life in Ann Arbor was fairly twee and forgettable (the Books was to WCBN as the Dave Matthews Band was to WQKL, although I'll never forget hearing the Meat Purveyors' bluegrass cover of Ratt's "Round and Round"), but the New Pornographers, the Vancouver pop powerhouse frequently featuring aughties musical "It" girl Neko Case, really stood out. Their first album, 2000's Mass Romantic, was wonderful, and it was a shock to find their follow-up, 2003's The Electric Version, as limp and uninvolving an affair one could possibly imagine. I was therefore wary of Twin Cinema, which came out in the middle of the decade to ecstatic reviews, many from friends of mine. It understandably took me a while to check it out, and I was delighted to find that the New Pornographers had returned to form. An unimpeachable example of aughties power-pop, it's most distinguished, perhaps, for how unassuming it is; there are few songs I can really single out, apart from the driving, exhilarating coda, "Stacked Crooked."
The Go! Team, Thunder Lightning Strike (2005): CBC 2, on the other hand, was and is constantly surprising, enjoyable and educational, an audio perk of living in southeast Michigan, where we pick up the Windsor station of Canada's national radio (and television, for that matter). Until a few years ago, CBC 2, which generally broadcasts orchestral and jazz music (standout hosts being Tom Allen and Julie Nasrallah) regularly carried the rock- and indie-pop- centric CBC 3 on Saturday nights, with shows hosted by Grant Lawrence and Sloan frontman Jay Ferguson (the latter's 1996 One Chord To Another is another marvelous example of Canadian power-pop). Back in the days when I always had weekends off, free Saturdays were something to look forward to, with opera, frequently from the New York Met, in the afternoons and fresh and unknown indie pop from north of the border in the evenings. It wasn't all Canadian (though I'll always be grateful for Tacoma Hellfarm Tragedy's "True Love Killed My True Love's Love For Me")--I first heard Peter, Bjorn and John's "Young Folks" properly for the first time in unforgettable circumstances via CBC 3--and they gave me the Go! Team, my favorite new band of the decade. Straight out of Brighton, England (also home of the Pipettes), the Go! Team delivered the perfect summer album, brash, bouncy, and loads of fun. "Bottle Rocket" entered my system and stayed there like a benevolent virus until "Ladyflash" came in and still hasn't quite left. The other songs are all great, but those two for me are the linchpins of this glorious party masterpiece. A great expression of optimism in the middle of this troubling and foreboding decade.
Sleater-Kinney, The Woods (2005): My favorite American band of the 1990s broke up right after they released their final album, and it's a shame both for my own sentimental reasons and for the fact that they seemed to be striking out in an interesting new direction, which I think was unfairly lambasted by many critics as a damn-the-torpedoes effort to be "different." As far as I was concerned, S-K only really slipped up on 2002's One Beat, in which their feminist urgency met left-wing anti-Bush sentiment in a musically clumsy way. The Woods carried much of the same baggage, but much more expertly, and S-K left behind the incongruously perky hooks of their former music for something grander and more forbidding, with fuzzed-out guitars and hard-rock-worthy guitar solos (it's almost as if Carrie Brownstein traded her inner Pete Townshend for John Entwistle--I think I just made that up, but it sounds like it might have come from somewhere; if it strikes anyone as familiar, please let me know). "Modern Girl" is a grand anthem to female experience in the aughties, and "Rollercoaster" and "Entertain" revisit some of the themes of One Beat with outstanding success, especially the latter. Though it's a huge shame that Sleater-Kinney had to break up, at least they did it on such an uncontestably high note.
LCD Soundsystem, Sound of Silver (2006): Something of a personal straggler for me--I first heard "North American Scum" on CBC 3 and thought it was the Evaporators (led by "Nardwar, the Human Serviette"). Later, I found out it was the personal project of New York musician James Murphy, and one of the only two albums to date that everyone in the deli basement kitchen where I work has enjoyed listening to at the same time (the other being Thin Lizzy's Greatest Hits, which doesn't really qualify for this list). Though "North American Scum" is probably the most striking song (and the most political, along with "New York I Love You"--"your billionaire mayor now thinks he's a king"), I prefer the gorgeous, hypnotic "Something Great" and the hooky, dance-pop "Us Vs. Them," with bonus Bowie-style vocals thrown in.
Lily Allen, Alright, Still... (2007): I'm probably a poster-child for the "long tail," burrowing into increasingly obscure books, movies and music at the expense of an increasingly fractured wider general culture. Nevertheless, I couldn't ignore Britain's chipmunk-cheeked Princess of Pop (especially with her father's checkered screen career) after "Smile" would not leave my brain for weeks (although strangely enough I now prefer the alternate version available on the album). To be honest, I'd rather give this spot to something like Tales From Turnpike House (2006), long-time fave Saint Etienne's ode to London life, but something about Alright, Still... just won't leave it alone--"LDN" captures a finely particular kind of urban ennui, and (as far as I can make out), "Everything's Just Wonderful" is a wonderful testament to the fact that "it's anything but."
Neon Neon, Stainless Style (2008): In 2005, Super Furry Animals vocalist Gruff Rhys began releasing solo albums--the first, Yr Atal Genhedlaeth, entirely in his native Welsh--and in 2008 collaborated with Cincinnati-based DJ Boom Bip in a dance- and techno-oriented concept album devoted to the life and legacy of disgraced auto executive John DeLorean. There were times when I found the aughties a tiresome retread of the eighties--awful fashions, right-wing politics, Transformers movies--and it was maybe fitting that such a dead-on musical dissection of the period came out at the time it did. Stainless Style, moreover, proved a colossal hit in the deli basement kitchen, which I found an indispensable clearing-house of musical information and criticism, believe it or not. Just about every song is indispensable (especially the beginning of "Sweat Shop"), but favorites tended to oscillate around "I Told Her On Alderaan," "Raquel" (about DeLorean's apparent relationship with Raquel Welch), and "Steel Your Girl" (the last my own personal favorite). Hopefully they'll collaborate again, but for now Stainless Style is the ghost of nightmares past that I think this decade needed.
As for a possible "song of the decade," I feel somewhat lame about this as my choice was probably specifically tailored to be such. Montreal-based The Arcade Fire was a huge favorite of many music critics and friends of mine, and though I was never as firmly in the box as they were, Funeral (2004) and The Neon Bible (2007) both had frequent moments of transcendent brilliance (the former's final song, "In the Backseat," is appallingly beautiful, thanks to some outstanding orchestral arrangements and Regine Chassane's exquisite vocals). "(Antichrist Television Blues)," with its lyrics about falling towers and "working downtown for the minimum wage", encompasses so much of the world experience and my own personal experience in so few lines, and with such assured, cocky music, that it manages to overcome its own probable pretentiousness (gut reaction, sorry) and claim the title. I much prefer it to Sufjan Stevens' "Vito's Ordination Song," which came close to defining a gloomy 2004 with dangerous thoughts of self-immolation (listening to it was like being lovingly smothered under a thick bedspread). So I'm totally fine with it being "(Antichrist Television Blues)." Hopefully the 2010s will produce something a little more upbeat.
Here's to a great 2010!