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. 

Andrew's #7 - "Conversation 16" by The National

"Conversation 16" by the National

Andrew

I left High Violet, the latest album by indie juggernauts the National, in the CD player of my girlfriend's car for a while last summer. At one point, her mother borrowed the car and when she cranked up the CD player, "Conversation 16" by the National came on. She liked the song well enough until she thought she heard rangy lead-singer Matt Berninger say, "I was afraid I'd eat your breast," at which point, disgusted, she turned off the song.

The lyric is actually, "I was afraid I'd eat your brains," but the feeling remains. Matt Berninger writes dark, witty, often unsettling lyrics. And when they're layered atop the classically-trained Dessner brothers simultaneously immaculate and murky melodies, the result is heaven. A depressing, sometimes jaded, often elegiac heaven.

All of the elements are in place here: Berninger's baritone, driving guitars, and an intense drum presence. Which is one of the of the key strengths of the National and of this song in particular: their willingness to allow the drums to be more than just a part of the rhythm section. Bryan Devendorf's drumming has a voice and often takes on an almost lyrical quality in the National's music. And when he hammers the transition into the chorus in this song it just fucking rocks.

Seth

Hey, I've heard this one! Anyway, I am a huge fan of the National. Their first two records point to a band with great things on the horizon, a promise fulfilled by their third and fourth records. I think Alligator is a top-to-bottom classic without a single weak track on it and Boxer is a brilliantly moody follow-up. When I still lived in New York I would frequently listen to these on my iPod and find that I'd just walked from my Midtown East office to the East Village without noticing.

All of which goes to why I was so distressed when I was the only person not bowled over by High Violet. Normally, I hear Matt Berninger's angelic baritone and I can practically feel the dopamine squirting into my brain. (Yuck.) The problem for me, again, is lyrical.

What I love about the National is Berninger's lyrics. Not to minimize the contribution of the Dessner and Devendorf brothers--their intense, brooding music is a perfect stage for Berninger's meditations--but the singer has always taken the spotlight. He writes songs that are simultaneously optimistic and suffused with a sense of dread. His lyrics perfectly capture what living in 21st century America feels like to me: I am very hopeful about my future, both professional and personal. Both my friends and myself, I'm convinced, will get all the things that people want out of life (love, a fulfilling career, bottle after bottle of sweet, delicious bourbon). I am fearful, however, of the fate of my country and the world around me. The constant insanity of the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy and the paranoid lunacy of all the Glenns Beck and Sarahs Palin of the world makes me think humanity might be doomed (and, in darker moments, that such a fate might not be so bad). This dichotomy between hope and despair is what I get from and relate to in Berninger's lyrics.

Most of High Violet lacked the same intensity that I found in the two previous records. I still like it a lot, but I don't love it with the same passion I did Alligator and Boxer. The zombie referencing line in this song is a perfect example: Berninger's singing has always held a certain theatrical element. This flair for the dramatic, though, runs more towards Shakespeare than Charles Busch. Berninger's the guy you want playing Hamlet or Richard III with the smoldering, brutal intensity of an Olivier or a Burton. He's never going to be the hero in some campy horror film. Frankly, he almost sounds like he thinks these lyrics are beneath him and he doesn't give it the middle school garage band reading that it seems to beg for. In his mouth, this line just sounds flat.

Again, I don't dislike this song; High Violet just didn't move me as much as its predecessor. Still, at the end of the day, a mediocre National record is still a pretty fucking great thing. And I'll buy the next one the day it comes out.

Seth's #8 - "Shutterbugg" by Big Boi ft. Cutty

"Shutterbugg" by Big Boi ft. Cutty

Seth

So the big debate in my corner of the world this year was this: Big Boi or Kanye? I'll save my thoughts on Mr. West and his magnum opus for a bit later but let me say this: in terms of a hip-hop record, I preferred Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Kanye is an Artiste capable of grand statements but he remains merely a serviceable and workmanlike rapper whose vision makes up for his skill. If he and Big Boi were to go head-to-head in a rap battle, the Outkast MC would wipe the floor with Kanye and ask for seconds before West could even Tweet that he'd just been smoked. "Shutterbugg," the most dexterous exhibition of Big Boi's prowess from his 2010 LP, makes just about everything on the Kanye album look belabored and overcooked by comparison.

While I ultimately prefer the dark coke-rap themes of the Wu-Tang Clan (and its assorted personages) and Clipse, I appreciate the classiness of Big Boi's approach. Like a futurist Sam Cooke, Big Boi lays down a slick rap about the joys of partying and hooking up with women over a gigantic beat. Anyone still on the "Andre 3000 is the brains of Outkast" train at this point is insane as Big Boi gives as lively and nimble a vocal performance as anything released last year. I want this song to accompany a slow-motion highlight reel of all my trips to the bar.

I think this song is an excellent example of the importance of the performer as I don't think anyone could have made this song sizzle quite like Big Boi. The lyrics don't tell the listener much about life but good God are they fun. "Shutterbugg" earned a spot on my list through the sheer energy evident in the performances here and while I'll (SPOILER ALERT) have a Kanye song later on the list, I think Big Boi takes the rap crown for 2010.

Andrew

This is a damn fine song.  I have to say, I was certainly on the "Andre 3000 is the brains of Outkast" train for a while, but Big Boi has impressed me with pretty much everything he's done since Andre went off to fail at having a film career.  Of Big Boi's recent stuff, I slightly prefer "Shine Blockas" but Shutterbugg has its own swagger.

I am not a hip-hop specialist* but as far as I can tell, the balance to strike in rap involves nimbleness** and muscularity.  The words have to flow adroitly but they also have to land with force.  Kanye falls a little too far on the nimble side, while guys like Rick Ross attain plenty of force with almost no deftness.  Big Boi has both, making his rhymes ultimately very satisfying.  They're impressive and quick but they feel fulfilled and supported.  Pardon me for talking about this like a theater professor but I just spent two years studying Shakespeare.  And I'm very, very white.

It's interesting for me to think about why this would never make my top ten, even though I like it very much.  I've always had a distant, conflicted relationship with hip-hop***.  Even though songs like Shutterbugg are, at the end of the day, uber-catchy party tunes, it doesn't feel like Big Boi is talking about my party.  Which is a pretty self-centered way of looking at (listening to) music but it's how I filter it.  In 2005, I actively spent part of the year trying to open myself to hip-hop and it didn't really stick.  Maybe 2011 will be the year.


*Flowologist

**Nimbility?  Nimbliciousness?

***I'll address this further because I (SPOILER ALERT) will have a Kanye song on my top ten list as well!

Andrew's #8 - "We Used to Wait" by the Arcade Fire

We Used to Wait by the Arcade Fire

Andrew

I've labored over this spot on my list longer than any other. I know I love this song but is it in my top ten of the year? Why not "Suburban War", off the same album? That song is classic Arcade Fire: the pensive, nostalgic build followed by the moment where everything changes. The rhythm shifts and they go for broke, casting off the ambling first half and ending in the sort of theatrical explosion the band has become famous for.

Or why not "Helicopter" by Deerhunter: a spare, swirling, stunning meditation on the apocryphal downfall and ultimate demise of Russian sex-slave Dima, who was supposedly thrown out of a helicopter in the Russian wilderness when his mob owners tired of him.

I honestly love all of these songs but I'm going with "We Used to Wait". And I guess I'm still not entirely sure why. I do know that it was the first song I heard off The Suburbs and to me it exemplifies a new direction for the Arcade Fire, a band that delivers on everything it produces without ever repeating itself. There is a tautness and focus in the instrumentation of this song that I haven't heard in their earlier work; the metronomic drumming and piano melody help highlight the tension buried in Win Butler's lyrics. The song is simultaneously nostalgic and forward looking: Butler sings of the loss of the way things were, even as the song hurtles forward toward the future. The melody is muscular but facile; the lyrics evoke thoughts and fears that make a lot of sense to me. I don't know. I feel circular and hackneyed writing about it.

The Arcade Fire is a complicated band and my feelings about this song are complicated and hard to put my finger on. But the Arcade Fire never fails to disappoint and I think this is one of the best songs of 2011.


Seth

Oh boy. Okay, here we go...I always knew that I'd end up being the Mike Love of this blog, I just had no idea that it would come so soon. First things first: this makes you three for three on picking songs I haven't heard yet, although this time I have a better reason than laziness.

So I'll just go ahead and say it...I don't like the Arcade Fire. I was the only bespectacled rock nerd with an uncommitted haircut and a fondness for sweaters who didn't give a flying fuck about Funeral back in 2004. Something about the Arcade Fire just felt false and ersatz to me.

I felt somewhat vindicated in 2007 when many of my Funeral-loving friends slammed Neon Bible. I didn't hear a huge difference between the two records (I'll admit that "Wake Up" and
"Rebellion (Lies)" from Funeral did a little bit for me) and they both had, to me, the same problem: Win Butler's lyrics.

Every time I listen to the Arcade Fire, no matter how much I want to like the song, I just hear high school notebook poetry over swelling, meet-thy-maker sonics. I think Butler is right up there with Conor Oberst in the Pantheon of Angsty Lyricists. I've never heard anything in an Arcade Fire song that had any meaning for me at all. (I actually learned more about myself from a chance rehearing of "The Things We Do For Love" by 10cc tonight).

"We Used to Wait" leaves me in pretty much the same place as every other AF song I've heard. It's not that the music is bad--it's an excellent example of a certain type of indie rock executed perfectly. I've just always been a lyrics guy and Butler's don't stick for me. Plus, I've already got my Canadian Supergroup bases covered in the New Pornos, Wolf Parade, Broken Social Scene and Swan Lake.

Seth's #9 - "Phone" by Magic Kids

 
Phone by Magic Kids 

Seth

"Phone," a sweet little number from Memphis power-poppers Magic Kids, opens with a quasi-melancholic swell of strings before launching into a deceptively bouncy ode to the tyranny of distance. Lead singer Bennett Foster's improbably high falsetto joins those other hallmarks of the power-pop genre--jingly toy piano, British Invasion keyboards, Motownish horns, bright guitar, and snappy drums--in a two minute sugar rush that, if you were ignoring the lyrics, would qualify these Kids for the Badfinger Award in Disposable Beatles Knockoffs.

Foster's lyrics, while erring a bit on the cloying side of the Twee Spectrum (I'm going to copyright that), provide a subtly dark contrast to the upbeat tone of the song's verses. He's in familiar territory, singing to a girl as he waits for her to call. As with all great rock writing, though, the devil is in the details. Lines like "I'm scared when you're leaving me here alone," and "I only exist when you see me" betray an alarming level of co-dependence. "Phone on my face as I'm lying awake in bed," he begins the next verse, before saying later "gonna hold you so tight while I'm dreaming..." in what might be the year's least likely reference to the works of Sir Philip Sidney. The amount of energy he seems to be expending just waiting on this phone call makes me think that Foster might be singing to a girl who doesn't even know he's alive rather than a traveling girlfriend.

Of course, I spent a lot of time with this song during a notably lonely time in my life last year, so maybe (definitely) that's all projection. Any song that can so thoroughly intertwine itself into a period of my life and evoke such strong associations deserves inclusion on my list. Besides that, this song is a pretty perfect blast of power-pop, a criminally underrated genre of the indie rock universe. Unfortunately, the rest of the Magic Kids record is more miss than hit, but their ability to write incredibly sweet and poppy songs (not to mention their dynamite live show) makes me hopeful about their future.

Andrew

This song is devious!  At first listen, I thought "Phone" sounded like the theme song to a 1960's British version of Friends* but, my god, this song has taken root in the pleasure center of my brain and refuses to be plucked.  That is some terrible writing, but this song makes me dumb with happiness!

I've been vocal in the past about my slight disdain for music that sounds like it could have been made in another decade.  I have an unreasonable obsession with things that sound/look/taste like they are from here and now.  But I'm coming around to music like this that strongly evokes another time.  "Phone" brings me back to my days at Oxford with Nigel, Sophie, Reginald, and Ben Whishaw**.  It makes me want to skip through the park in a sweater even though it's summertime.

All joking aside, I am really, really fond of this song.  It's catchy, propulsive, combines disparate moods in the melody and lyrics (something that I am often enamored with) and doesn't outstay its welcome***.  Though, I'm sorry Seth, but Foster's vocal delivery ranks about an "11" (or, "Belle and Sebastian Playing Croquet") on the Twee Spectrum.  But, fuck it!  Let's throw on  some sweaters and an unreasonable amount of corduroy and skip through the park to this song the next time you're in town.


*It's called Mates and it's just as terrible as the American version.

**Who the fuck is Ben Whishaw?  And how do the British get these names?  Benedict Cumberbatch?!  You are FUCKING with me!

***Who let these french horns in here?  Scat!  Scat! 

Andrew's #9 - "Intil" by Menomena

Intil by Menomena

Andrew

Menomena is a band primarily known for its collaborative experimentation. The band members use a self-designed recording device called "The Dealer" to record a couple bars from one instrument at a time. They go around the room, allowing each band member to contribute a layer at a time. This often results in complex, sonically bizarre songs, with components and instruments appearing and disappearing sometimes seemingly at random.

Which is what makes their simple, straightforward songs that much more impressive. On their previous album, Friend and Foe, it was the soaring, haunting "My My" and on their newest album, Mines, it is the spare, plaintive piano ballad "Intil".

The lyrics hint at a relationship not broken, but wounded. Distance and miscommunication lead to the lovers hiding more and more. "Times when I'm with you/I'm really not myself," sings co-lead-singer Brent Knopf* [who recently left the band (boo!)]. It's a feeling that I, and probably many of us, have felt all too keenly in the past. This is what makes this song stand out from the other strong tracks on the album. It feels like mine. Like it was made for me.

The song swells and spirals, coming full circle by ending with the same lyric it began with, then dying out completely. After 30 seconds of silence, distant voices and a simple piano melody swell briefly and disappear. It's a beautiful ending to a beautiful song.


*Dartmouth alum from '00. Go Big Green!

Seth

Another Andrew post, another song I hadn't heard yet. For whatever reason, I sort of missed the boat on Menomena. Friend and Foe didn't set my world on fire like it did for so many indie rock fans back in '07 and I've still never heard either of their first two. I heard the first half of Mines back in July when I was hanging out in a record store in Brooklyn and, while I enjoyed it, I almost immediately deleted it from memory. I guess I had to draw the line somewhere on Music for Dudes with Beards and Menomena just didn't make the cut.

Having listened to "Intil," though, I could easily forsee a future where that's not the case. It reminds me of Grizzly Bear in a lot of ways (another band I don't like as much as every other human like me). I like the way that the sparseness of the lyrics matches the minimalism of the accompaniment because there's no wasted gestures. Speaking of lyrics, I see what Andrew said about a damaged relationship, which makes sense...but I also get a bit of the odd combination of regret and relief that accompany the final stages of a relationship when both people know it's doomed but want to hold on just a little bit longer.

So let's take a bet on whether or not I've heard Andrew's next song!

Seth's #10 - "California Gurls" by Katy Perry

California Gurls (ft. Snoop Dogg) by Katy Perry 

Seth

I have a sneaking suspicion that Andrew is going to barbecue me on this one, but here goes anyway. Say what you will about Katy Perry--that she's a soulless talent vacuum, a glass-eyed cipher, more famous for what's in her bra (or shooting out of it, given the time of day) than her music--but watch what this song does to a dance floor long about 1am and then deny it's a gem. Hell, I once saw a group of thirtysomething dudes with beards go nuts when this song came on. One of them even gave me a hug for putting it on the jukebox.

Nobody's ever going to mistake KP for a great pop artist: she's not cool like Robyn, dynamic like Beyonce or nuts like Gaga and most of her music sounds like it was made with her voice as an afterthought. For these four minutes, though, Perry might as well be Madonna for as much femmy firepower as she packs. The lyrics are a gloriously stupid ode to West Coast women and the men who love them (which is all of us, apparently). Perry (or at least the affable robots who manipulate her) gives a charming, fluttery vocal performance that sounds like she was actually awake for the recording, unlike the majority of her work. The music, oddly minimalistic for a pop single, chugs happily along through while K-T and Snoop Dogg memorialize the curvy anatomical superiority of, yep, California girls.

I get it, this song is stupid. There were many songs this year that meant more to me personally than this one--most of which won't make this list--but the summer's biggest, dumbest pop single just feels like a sugary blast of fun that will always remind me of 2010. Sometimes it's nice to indulge in things that are bad for you, like whiskey or Fox News. And all you hipster kids will love the twenty-minute Discodeine remix!

Andrew

I fired up the grill, dry-cleaned my best oven mitts, and threw on my "Blumpkin the Cook" apron...until I remembered that I had this song on heavy repeat for a while this summer. 

I don't begrudge anybody a little trashy pop.  Hell, I partake heavily myself at times.  I love that we live in a world where it's totally fine - nay, cool - for a hipster to have Lady Gaga follow My Bloody Valentine on his "Frickin' Awesome" playlist*.

My issue with this song is its aforementioned minimalism.  Katy Perry's voice is thin and her lyrics are mentally disabled but throw some chunky trance-stomp synths behind her and you've got a hit ("I Kissed a Girl").  In "California Gurls" though, the only musical element that I hear is the annoyingly insistent drum-beat.  The guitars, bass, and synth recede into the background and we're left with Perry's underwhelming voice and the THWACK-THWACK-THWACK of the drums.  But, look, it's catchy.  And as an unabashed fan of gurls from California, I can sign off on the message.

And on a final note, I am by no means an arbiter of cred but I have to assume that Snoop Dogg lost all of his when he appeared in this video. 


*A hipster has never titled his or her playlist thusly. 

Andrew's #10 - "Impossible Soul" by Sufjan Stevens

Impossible Soul (Part I) by Sufjan Stevens 
Impossible Soul (Part II) by Sufjan Stevens 

Andrew

My number ten spot is serving as a neither-here-nor-there-honorable-mention type spot. Because I know I love this song but I have no idea where to put it.

In my butt.

Modern mad-scientist/folk singer/orchestral composer, Sufjan Stevens, was famous(ish)ly quoted in a 2009 Paste Magazine article as no longer having any faith in the song as a method of conveying music. To Sufjan fans, like myself, this sounded like a terrifying admission of artistic confusion. Fortunately, Stevens handled the career roadblock brilliantly: with a ten-minute epic on the compilation "Dark Was The Night", a sprawling multi-media experience about a stretch of highway, and now this 25-minute beast.

There are forgettable sections, undoubtedly, but as Ryan Dombal of Pitchfork aptly points out, the track "bulges with more engaging ideas than most artists could muster in a career." The track speaks for itself in its own way, even if it is a bit verbose, but I would like to specifically point listeners to the dead center of the song (minutes 9 to 18), where Stevens segues from a heartbreaking (and genuine!) auto-tuned ballad into one of the foot-stompingest, most life-affirming sections of any song released this year.

Seth

Wow. I'll confess that I broke up with Sufjan after Illinoise. I'm happy he's still making music, but I don't find myself reaching for his records all that often anymore. Both Seven Swans and Michigan were pretty big parts of my life in my freshman and sophomore years of college but something about Illinoise just didn't move me like it did almost everyone else. I prefer Stevens when he's less bombastic and more direct (cf. "To Be Alone With You" from Seven Swans). In the spirit of fairness, however, I gave "Impossible Soul" a spin and I have to say...wow.

After hearing this song (all 25 minutes of it), I think that I was wrong to jump the Sufjan ship. There are some sections where he loses me--notably the sub-of Montreal falsetto computerized "don't be distracted" swirliness before the best use of autotune since the Gregory brothers started making the news sing. Ultimately, the whole thing is a testament to Stevens' versatility and his unique ability to incorporate electronics (though I'd still advise the readers to skip Enjoy Your Rabbit) and traditional folk music styles into something nobody else would ever think to do. While I may not be a true believer anymore, I think Sufjan Stevens is among the most creative voices working in pop music today. Listen to this song for proof.

How this is going to go.

To fire this bitch up, Seth and I are going to start off by responding to each others' favorite music of the year.  We'll do our top ten songs of the year, then do our top five albums of the year.  I'll post song number ten and write about it; Seth will respond then post his own number ten, which I will respond to.  Et cetera.  Et cetera.  Ad nauseum.  Nad awesiome.

More or less what we here are attempting to do.

One thing that's always struck me about music reviews is the general certainty of the reviewer.  "This lyric means this," "this bridge has such and such an effect".  And while I have a certain appreciation for confident assertion, I've always found art (and music in particular) a little trickier than critics make it out to be.

Whenever I think I might have an idea I say it out loud.  Whether I believe it yet or not, I throw it out into the world to see what people (usually my generous and understanding friends) think about it.  Once I've heard their reactions to my nascent thought, I pass a verdict on the idea.  I've formed the majority of my personality (opinions, beliefs, "ethics", "morals", etc.) this way and I thought it might be a great way to approach reviewing music (and other things).

This idea is not original (Messrs. Siskel and Ebert) but then again neither is any idea.  So, myself and Seth Valentine will be attempting to talk about music (and other things) right here.  We'll see.  Hi ho.