Seth's #4-- "Tin Man" by Future Islands

Future Islands--"Tin Man"

Seth

One of my favorite musical discoveries of 2010 was the Baltimore-based "post-wave" band Future Islands. While this may be a meaningless label (though what isn't these days?) the combination of New Order/the Knife-esque rhythms and electronic textures with folky vocals is pretty impossible to fit into any neat, pre-conceived box. Future Islands is such a thrilling group because they manage to unite the insistent thump of electro and the expansive storytelling of folk rock--which should be an abject disaster--in a way that feels completely natural and familiar. Nowhere do they do this better than on album highlight "Tin Man."

Initially released in May, I discovered In Evening Air in October, which was the ideal time to come to this, a perfect fall record. "Tin Man" is the best example of the band's ability to write songs that contain the same anxious/comfortable and warm/chilly dichotomy present in the autumn months. Central to the success of Future Islands is singer Samuel T. Herring's voice and lyrical conceits.

"Tin Man" opens with a couplet that starts with startling directness before dissolving into the impossibly vague: "You couldn't possibly know how much you mean to me/ You couldn't always view inside my tarot." Delivered in Herring's uncannily Tom Waits-esque Carnival Barker in Limbo wail, the line is the first in a series of contradictions, juxtapositions and metaphors that forms an obtuse meditation on the transience of life. Without developing a specific and linear narrative, Herring sketches a picture of the ephemeral beauty of an inconstant world.

Perhaps what's most striking about the song is how glaring it seems that it could fall apart at any second. Herring sings with a theatrical flair that would feel at home fronting a boozy second-rate circus band. The most striking musical aspect of the song--the steel drum--initially seems out of place but ends up driving the entire thing to the finish line, playing an interval so uncertain as to color the deliberately opaque lyrics. Underneath, the band works a tight, meticulously controlled electro-pop rager that could easily be recalibrated into a dance-floor filler. The result is a set of disparate genre elements that, against the odds, manages to cohere into a magical three minutes.

The remainder of In Evening Air is equally rewarding and unlikely, although nothing quite hits the rarefied heights of "Tin Man." Future Islands are a band of no small ambition whose sophomore album presages great things. Anyone who could write a pop song packed with Wizard of Oz imagery that plumbs the depths of the human condition like New Order at a theme park deserves to be taken seriously.

Andrew's #4 - "Giving Up the Gun" by Vampire Weekend

"Giving Up the Gun" by Vampire Weekend

Andrew

And now we venture into the portion of my list that is simply harder for me to justify. What can I say? These songs hit me on a level I find difficult to explain.

And believe me, I know that Vampire Weekend is sometimes tough to defend. These be-loafered turds do very little to convince us they are not the privileged North Atlantic shit-sacks they are. They're well-educated, well-trained, and have atrocious taste in clothing but BY HOLY GOD they write tight tunes.

I heard Vampire Weekend's premier album before it was released and saw their Summer Stage performance right as they were becoming especially popular with the kind of 19-year old girl I would have loved when I was 19. They are a fascinating group of lads that have somehow come together to create brilliant pop music. There were some really encouraging tracks on their eponymous debut but nothing with the muscle and flow of "Giving Up the Gun".

The song, incredibly, is a cannibalization of a song from lead singer Ezra Koenig's mediocre college hip-hop group, L'Homme Run. Fortunately, VW's version bulks up the simple melody with cascading synths, insistent percussion, and Chris Baio's prominent bass line.

I find it difficult to describe pop music that really moves me, so I won't. I love this song. I think it's fast, tight, and hot. VW have transcended the African influences they consciously aped on their first album and have gone on to create songs that embody a whole new type of pop music.

Seth

I like Vampire Weekend fine but the argument that a lot of critics make for their being an IMPORTANT BAND seems to me like arguing for the health benefits of Froot Loops. They make tight indie pop songs that are really fun to listen to but don't stick with me in any major way. I also feel like I see a lot of praise for Ezra Koenig as a lyricist (which is funny, since I think he's underrated as a guitarist. Say what you will about VW, these motherfuckers can play!) and outside of a very few examples (this song, "Holiday," and half of "I Think U R a Contra") I don't see him as a great teller of stories or doing much to evoke the human condition outside of someone very similar to himself.

Regardless, "Giving Up the Gun" is a great song and my second favorite from their sophomore album Contra, a record which I like with a mild sense of warmness. "...Gun" is a step forward for the band sonically as it includes more dance-y electronics and a nifty four-on-the-floor stomp absent in much of their earlier, more organic (and derivative) work. Also, it has a very funny video.

Ultimately, I don't get why so many people have such strong feelings about this band, which is why I'm so interested in them even though I don't feel a passionate connection to the music. They're one of the few indie bands to get really big in the past few years to suffer a popular backlash without suffering a critical one. On the one hand, they seem like a sitting duck for the right kind of embittered music critic. They're children of privilege: educated, upper class, (mostly) white guys who could VERY EASILY be accused of musical colonialism and appropriation. (Though, honestly, who gives a fuck when there's ACTUAL COLONIALISM still at play in the world. Nevertheless, such accusations are the backbone of much modern criticism.) For whatever reason, much of the critical establishment has pulled their punches. On the other hand, though, I suspect that most of the people who H-A-T-E Vampire Weekend are similarly affluent white guys who went to prep schools and Ivy League universities and are just upset they didn't get the idea first. I guess where you come down on Vampire Weekend is probably influenced more by your opinion of the petit bourgeosie than your opinion of well-executed indie pop.

On a side note and in response to your observation about how VW is popular with the type of girl you would have loved at 19: that is exactly why I would have hated VW in college. That's the type of girl I would have wanted to make hate me when I was 19 (what can I say, the late teens aren't known for being a time of great self-control or depth of soul). When they blew up I would have insisted--often and at high volume to anyone within earshot--that they were "for teenage girls who don't get the Talking Heads." The fact that it strikes me now as unnecessarily snotty and mean-spirited is, I think, a sign of at least some form of maturity creeping into the corners of my life. Read into this what you will, also viz. my last post re: Kanye.

Seth's #5- "Runaway" by Kanye West

Kanye West--"Runaway"

Seth

Up until last year, I thought of Kanye West as a competent singles artist whose work I wasn't terribly interested in outside of party mixes. With My Beautiful, Dark, Twisted Fantasy, though he reached an artistic maturity that is new and thrilling and heralds, I hope, a new direction for hip-hop and pop music. So let's look how it happened.

If we're being honest, the Kanye's stage invasion was the best thing that ever happened to West or Taylor Swift. When he cut the inoffensive teen star off in the midst of her acceptance of a profoundly meaningless award, he solidified his public image as rap's enfant terrible and made Swift seem like a paragon of put-upon restraint. While this has been good for Swift's ability to sell records, it hasn't exactly driven her to any new artistic heights (quick--name a Taylor Swift song that's not about weirdo crushes or slut-shaming) but it's opened up a new facet of West's persona.

Anyone even remotely familiar with the miracle of self-invention will realize that when you have an entirely constructed personality, you eventually begin to act based largely on what other people expect you to do rather than to fulfill your own desires. West's intense desire to sell himself as a brand culminated in his stage invasion and brought him as a character into mainstream America's crosshairs. I actually think West was surprised to discover people had such a strong reaction to his stage antics--remember the sight of him breaking down when the pompous human fuckstick that is Jay Leno grilled him that next week--but it ultimately caused him to create "Runaway," as chilling a look at celebrity sociopathy as has ever been recorded.

Starting with the spare, single piano note, the listener is immediately aware that this isn't West in either of his familiar modes: braggadocio or self-pity. Instead, Kanye takes a hard look at himself. The ensuing nine-minute breakdown is one of the most genuinely scary things I heard last year. It's the sound of a man coming apart as he looks at the distance between the person he thought himself to be and the person he presented to the world and realizes that most people probably hate him. On his guest verse, Pusha T (of my favorite rap group Clipse) absolutely kills and his confidence further deepens West's miasma.

I suppose that I relate a lot to this song because (granted, on a much, much smaller scale) I went through a similar situation when I realized the person I had aggressively tried to live as for most of college was a total asshole. (Also, I didn't relate to any line in any song this year more directly than "I don't know what it is with females but I ain't too good at that shit.") That, however, is a boring story for another time. What we can agree on here is that My Beautiful, Dark, Twisted Fantasy is the work of an artists finally capable of complex self-examination and newfound maturity. Keep it up, Kanye.

Andrew

I honestly can't name any Taylor Swift songs.

Can't Be Tamed?

Runaway is enthralling but is it good music? The Pusha T verse is solid but is it related to the content of the song? Kind of?

Kanye goes some interesting places in 'Runaway', and his willingness to hang his hat on a defiantly simple piano track is admirable but I'm still not sold on the song. For one, Kanye relies mostly on his singing voice, which is terrible, especially in the absence of auto-tune. And the Pusha cameo feels less integral and more tacked on than the more solid of Kanye's collaborations.

On a certain level Runaway feels necessary. I don't think My Dark Awesome Sexy Sex Dream would have been superlative without it. West needed a song like this to be reborn. The great, dramatic, self-reflexive look into his psyche is a staple of the album. But as a song, I don't especially care for it.

The video is stunning, the song is a dramatic diversion for West, but I don't love it. I like other songs on the album significantly better because they feel like Kanye using all his mad-genius superpowers as best he can. West should be applauded for venturing into such bizarre, dark, soul-searching territory but he ultimately does himself a disservice by trying to do depressing soul better than any of the myriad artists who excel at it.

Andrew's #5 - "All of the Lights" by Kanye West

"All of the Lights" by Kanye West

I've timed this post perfectly to coincide with the release of Kanye's seizure-inducing video for this song, but that is neither here nor there.

I've never been much of a Kanye fan until this year, due in no small part to this song. There is a triumphant ferocity coursing through "All of the Lights" that I find absolutely magnetic. Kanye has always been a better producer than rapper and he handles that brilliantly here by not only surrounding himself with top-notch cameos that help plug the gaps in his game but also by constructing a layered instrumental background replete with a manic breakbeat and horns piggy-backing on horns.

And there's something wonderfully ambiguous about the lyric "We're going all the way this time," showing up in a Kanye West song. At face value, it seems like a relatively simple hip-hop cliche but when interpreted in the context of West's seeming mental instability it takes on an anarchic, ominous tone that I absolutely love.

It's the theatricality of it all. West has never been afraid of the "big statement" and this song is a swing for the fences in the best of ways. I may live in a hole when it comes to hip-hop music but I've never heard anything like this song. The beat and melody don't sound anything on the radio right now and West's blend of rappers and singers come together to create music that, to me, feels genuinely new.


Seth

Interestingly, my #5 is also a Kanye song, so the internet will finally have some commentary on his new album. I agree with you, Andrew, in that I haven't really cared about Kanye West until My Beautiful, Dark, Twisted Fantasy. He's a mediocre rapper at best and his childish antics and frequent, public temper tantrums overshadowed his music. (Although I do agree with him that Taylor Swift shouldn't have won that VMA, but that's a topic for another time). With MBDTF, though, he's created a record that justifies his outsized ego.

"All of the Lights" is, to me, a lesser track from the record, but Fantasy is a rare gem whose filler tracks are still solid gold. West assembles an award's show amount of guest stars here in a dizzyingly complicated arrangement that augments his vocals without overshadowing them. (Related: Rihanna should be used exclusively to sing choruses on monster rap songs.) Lyrically, West dwells on the same subject that the rest of the album takes on: failure, irresponsibility, and what I'm going to call "being a nightmare person." It's a subject that's going to come up again.

Seth's #6-- "Not in Love" by Crystal Castles featuring Robert Smith

Crystal Castles feat. Robert Smith-"Not in Love"

Seth

Crystal Castles, a Toronto based electronic duo of the He Plays/She Sings variety, make crystalline (ha) music with the warmth of a Siberian countryside. Principal members Ethan Kath (who plays everything) and Alice Glass (who sings) have forged two albums of frigid horrorpop that would give Harlan Ellison bad dreams. They reached their pinnacle, however, with this year's single "Not in Love," sung by Goth godfather Robert Smith.

Notably, "Not in Love" is a cover, though this version blasts the original (by the semi-awful Canadian hair band Platinum Blonde) into the heart of the sun with such primal ferocity that anyone who even listens to the PB version is an idiot. CC have rebuilt the structure of the song from sub-Flock of Seagulls 80's dreck into an synth-and-MIDI nightmare orgy that's more unsettling than Vincent Price's ghost tickling the ivories of a burnt-out church's pipe organ at a Black Mass. The most important feature of the Crystal Castles version, though, is Smith's vocal take.

After the opening MIDI wave sets the ominous mood, Robert Smith sings the opening lines: "I saw your picture hanging on the back of my door,/I gave you my heart, no one lives there anymore." Robert Smith is the George Clooney of alternative rock: he only does one thing, but he does it better than anyone on the planet. For Clooney, that's playing a debonair American lead, for Smith, it's wailing out emotionally unhinged vocals about unrequited and/or dying love. True to form, Smith delivers this performance like he's trapped in an emotional hellscape between a molten earth and a charred sky.

Backing up Smith's edge of sanity hellhowl, Kath and Glass construct a musical world that shifts between insistent thump and swirling, vertiginous melody. The lyrics paint a picture of uncertainty in the aftermath of a love so completely destroyed that the former partners no longer even communicate--"we were lovers, now we can't be friends." All the uncertainty and tension in the song builds to the horrific, thrilling chorus when Smith comes unglued, wailing "I'm not in love" repeatedly. It's a credit to his skill that you wonder whether he's trying to convince the listener or himself.

Andrew

Like a John Carpenter movie with heartbreak as the monster, here comes Crystal Castles.

I've liked this band's stuff in the past but I somehow missed this song this year*.  What I like most about "I'm Not in Love" is the juxtaposition of Robert Smith's voice with the harsh melody.  I've often found Smith's voice a little limp and maudlin but when placed in counterpoint with the absolutely razor-sharp synths in this song, I gain a new appreciation for his style.  One of the primary facets that draws me to "electronic" music is the distance between the warmth of the human voice and the coolness of the computerized backing.  The constant push and pull between the two components can allow for fantastically complex and dramatic sounds and moods, as this song exemplifies perfectly.

And Smith does really step up on this one.  He sounds less whiny (which I've often found his work with The Cure) than defiant.  There is a thrilling quality to his heartbreak.  The song is relatively taut and straightforward, lacking any audible frills or diversions.  It hurtles from beginning to end without really much change in dynamic but, honestly, if I found a sound this tight, I'm not sure I'd be willing to vary it either.


*Look, I was very busy.  I had many appointments, to-dos, and hootenannies.

Andrew's #6 - "Hurricane J" by the Hold Steady

"Hurricane J" by the Hold Steady

Andrew

This one's bittersweet for me. When I heard "Hurricane J" in May of last year, I was ecstatic. The first single off Heaven is Whenever sounded like vintage Hold Steady: driving guitars, sing-a-long choruses, brilliant, boozy lyrics about waitresses. Classic. The absence of mustachioed piano-man Franz Nicolay seemed like a boon, not a hindrance. The song hurtled and thrummed, guitars and drums roaring forth, then reigning in, then roaring forth again.

And then the album came out and took a dump in my heart.

The progression that the Hold Steady made in the first decade of the 21st century was, in my humble opinion, one of the most exciting builds in the history of music. Each album they released was unmistakably Hold Steady while also unmistakably stronger than the previous album. Craig Finn and Tad Kubler are (or were, we'll see) baby/bathwater specialists, if you will*. While a lay-fan may listen to Boys and Girls in America and Stay Positive and hear the same music, I hear a band taking tried and true formulas and tweaking them ever-so-slightly to move closer to perfection. And while, Heaven is Whenever doesn't fit into this progression for me, "Hurricane J" does. The lack of a prominent piano part lends focus and drive to the song. The guitars blister a little harder, Craig Finn cares a little more. The song has no extraneous parts. It sounds like the Hold Steady but also sounds like a possible future Hold Steady.

And then there's Finn's poetry. Who else could take a line like, "I don't want you to settle/I want you to grow," and make you not laugh at it? Finn's lyrics about late night liaisons, drunken nights, and drugged neo-saints feel simultaneously literary and anthemic, and laid atop Tad Kubler's monster-guitar riffs, they fucking kill.

But they didn't name her for a saint/
They named her for a storm./
So how's she supposed to think about/
How it's gonna feel in the morning?

Fuck yes.


*You won't? Ok, no problem.

Seth

Hey Andrew, welcome back! Glad you survived your ordeal so we can get back to doing the important work of sifting through 2010's indie wreckage. So...

Agreed on almost all points. The Hold Steady win the 2010 award for "Favorite Band Who Released an Album That I Don't Love." While I realize that's a pretty silly distinction, Heaven Is Whenever was pretty much a step backwards on every front for the Brooklyn-based barroom laureates. Seeing the band twice on the tour and spending more time with the record has opened it up for me a bit and there are some good songs on it ("Rock Problems" and "The Weekenders," notably) but "Hurricane J" is the only one that hits the rarefied heights where all of their preceding records dwelt.

"Hurricane J" finds the Hold Steady doing what they do best: a guitar blitzkrieg, no-holds-barred romp with Craig Finn's speak-shouted, Raymond Carver-esque ruminations on young Americans dealing with life and falling in love taking center stage. The song's narrator is in a typically Finn-y predicament, deeply in love with a much younger woman with whom he realizes there's not a future. The level of bathos Finn summons on the line that ends the first stanza--"Jessie, I don't think I'm the guy"--is as crushing as anything the band has ever recorded. Andrew, your observation that nobody else could make a line like "I don't want you to settle/I want you to grow," work like Craig Finn is spot-on. He writes with such literary acumen that you can practically see his narrator streaking his cheeks with tears as he reluctantly breaks things off with his young paramour, offering this last advice. It's one of the few moments on the record with such intensity.

I love the Hold Steady with a white-hot passion, but I wouldn't fault anybody for not digging them. Finn and his gang write songs for a certain kind of hopeless romantic who drinks and reads too much for his (I find HS fans tend to be guys, my sister excepted) own good. I've aspired to live the life described in these songs for most of my post-adolescence now, so I realize I've got a lot more emotional investment than most people do in this stuff, and I hope that the band finds a way to continue to live up to the heights they've hit before sans Franz Nicolay. I'll settle for even one more song like this one, though.

Seth's #7 - "Girls FM" by Happy Birthday

"Girls FM" by Happy Birthday

Seth

"Girls FM" is a perfect slice of indie-pop from Sub Pop's Happy Birthday. Opening with a grungy guitar that sounds like it cost ten dollars playing through an amp that probably cost five. Lead singer Kyle Thomas's nasal bleat chirps out the lyrics about relationships damaged by lack of communication and understanding. As the drums come in and the song moves to the chorus, Thomas's voice is backed by an angelic-sounding harmony from drummer (and Tune-Yards' sister) Ruth Garbus. The whole song is a three-minute joyride through insanity.

The (glorious) chorus "I'm always on the same frequency, Girls FM, Girls FM/and everybody's lookin' like a girl to me, Girls FM, Girls FM" is the addled raving of a troubled mind. (Coincidentally, it's also something that I like to repeat when I'm drunk.) Thomas's narrator is so confused by loneliness that he's pretty much snapped. The fact that Thomas sings the lines like he's coming off an acid bender adds to the unease. It's the most fun that psychosis will ever be.

Of course, the contrast between the jaunty scuzz-pop music and the darkness of the lyrics is something I'm biologically programmed to respond to. I'm always a sucker for a three-minute "Girls are making me crazy!" song. (One of my friends, upon hearing this for the first time, said "This sounds like something Seth would think.") Driven mad by desire is one of my favorite artistic tropes and the music is textbook guitar pop. So maybe Happy Birthday tricked me, but it's nice to enjoy your misery.

Andrew

First off, I'm terrible.  I allowed a busy schedule and a cataclysmic case of food poisoning to throw me off my game.  But I'm back.  Mea culpa, mea culpa.  I've seen people in movies use that phrase in similar situations, so I think I'm probably using it correctly.

When I first heard this song I thought it was the Kinky Wizards, the fake band comprised of two skater punks in the movie High Fidelity*.  Which is to say, I thought it was joke music.  On first listen, Thomas's voice sounded like a parody of a listless punk singer.  But the song has grown on me.  It doesn't blow my mind or make me want to dance but the simple melody and occasional time-signature changes make for a deceptively catchy** song.  And, well, I can sign off on the message.

At the end of the day though, the song feels a little done by rote.  The verses are pretty straightforward and the instrumental transitions in between verse and chorus give you plenty of time to know exactly what's coming.  The growly-voice breakdown late in the song serves as an interesting diversion, but even that feels a little phoned in.  But then again, maybe I'm saying this because I've listened to the song 30 times in the last week.  Ultimately, this song, while not a favorite of mine, piques my interest as to what this Vermont trio will do in the future.


*Which is apparently actual Chicago band, Royal Trux

**I'm going to eventually come up with new synonyms for "catchy" to describe music, I promise.